


Oh. Sweet. Incendiary.

by imperiality (orphan_account)



Series: Halloween Fic Fest Fills [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But stay with me, F/M, Ghost Allura, Pain, Possession, Supernatural Elements, Tags are lost on me, The spiciest stuff happens near the end, kind of ?, shhh - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-09 14:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: In yet another fic that the writer takes entirely too seriously, Keith becomes the neighborhood "ghost hunter" in hopes to uncover the mystery of all the missing persons.He uncovers the mystery, all right.That. And a little bit more.





	Oh. Sweet. Incendiary.

**Author's Note:**

> The next installment of the Fic Fest! I intended for the prose to go one way, but it really took a life of its own.
> 
> Inspiration drawn directly from Pvris _No Mercy_. No shame.
> 
> Enjoy!

Seriously are there no other like, official ghost hunters who can do this sort of thing? Oh, excuse him. Aren’t there _Ghost Busters_? Why couldn’t anyone call _them_? Really. Anyone but him.

Anyone but Keith.

He was already up to his ass in reports and projects. (Not to mention his friends and their drama. Not to even _think_ about the drama he’s been putting up with for the past month.) Don’t even start with the rumors.

“Keith. This girl is heard miles away. How many people do you actually think hear ghosts at all? In their _life_.”

Pidge was most enthused of all to hear the news. The rumors, the speculation, all of it. The far-reaching screams were what really sealed the deal for her. Lance, on the other hand.… Lance was passionate. In his own right. He shoved Pidge away from her own laptop to skim the article again.

“You have to check this out, dude! You can’t _not_. That’s not even an option. Hell, I’ll even go with you, buddy. We can hand-make those ghost-communicators. The doo-hickies. Heh. Hickeys.” Lance wiggled his eyebrows.

“Lance. For once.”

“What, Pidge. What?”

“Okay. First of all, they’re not called doo-hickies. Stop snickering. Second of all, they’re called e-“

“Yeah, whatever.” Lance waved a dismissive hand in her face. He then looked to Keith. “So what about it. Are we checking out this totally spooky ghost chick haunting a totally spooky abandoned house? That’s my kind of noise. Sí se puede, pal?”

At his friends’ irritating, Keith rubbed his temples in a last ditch effort to sooth his nerves. Pidge snatched her Alien back. Lance’s eyes sparkled and his expression widened to shoujo levels. As ever, Keith hated bearing the bad news.

He once again carried the cumbersome torch.

“No, Lance. We’re not going to investigate a ‘spooky ghost girl’ in a spooky ghost house. At this point, it’s still just a rumor.” He caught Pidge’s deflating excitement. “No, no. None of that. I’m not going. Lance isn’t going. You aren’t going. Hunk, Coran, Shiro- no one is going. We’re not chasing after a rumor!”

Lance and Pidge looked to each other. Then to Keith. Then back down to the monitor, where Pidge quickly switched tabs.

“So Pidge, which HGTV stars are we playing wed, bed and dead with today? If it’s those Property Brothers again, I swear-“

And that had been that. 

For about 2 weeks.

Then all of a sudden, reports and missing persons calls came in left and right at a staggering spike. They flooded the internet, spamming Keith’s and his friends’ phones. The Ghost Girl was inescapable. Pidge wanted to find, investigate, interrogate. (Lance, in a surprise to absolutely no one, wanted to flirt with her.) Keith just wanted a good night’s rest. 

In all of the overwhelming quantity of stories, Lance mentioned off-hand one day as they were all hanging out,

“You know how the media is trying to cover their tracks, and all of the headlines are getting ridiculously wilder? It kind of feels like this play my family and I went to see a few years ago. Holy crow! Not to mention that one starred mostly girls, too. Something…. Girls.”

Lance’s little off-hand comment relentlessly heckled Keith’s thoughts for weeks following. Keith wasn’t really about it. 

 _The media covering their tracks_? He tried putting the clues together himself. Off to the side of his desk he noticed a barely-used journal and christened it as his new Theory Journal. 

So far, the media had called the (still alleged) ghost girl as “kidnapping” incidences. Not a big surprise. He scribbled it down but didn’t think much of it. Other popular headlines he noted were of the same vein as “dare gone wrong”, “drunken party took a wrong turn” and “lost campers unwittingly hiking to their demise”. He wrote that last header line for line. His smile was appropriately perverse and amused. 

When the month of rumors were up, and _Ghost Girl is like, confirmed y’all_ , (as officiated by Lance,) Keith still thought he was being subtle when he brought his journal everywhere. He needed to be prepared! Always! What if there was another clue he could pick up, but didn’t have his journal and couldn’t write it down? Yeah. That’s what he thought. 

Lance, Pidge and Hunk all tittered silently at his eagerness. 

Pidge managed to wrangle Hunk into interrogating neighbors and townsfolk about suspicious activity. They used different and increasingly sloppy excuses for their questioning, but no one could fault the pair for wanting to take care of the issue. In the neighbors’ desire to make the arbitrary wailing _stop already,_ every man, woman and child was more than willing to comply.

The sleuthing duo reported their “findings” to Keith under the guise of friendly inclusion, but they knew just how much he wanted to uncover the truth, too.

The ghost _was_ real, the house was _creepy_ , and Keith didn’t even have to hear the reports or see the pictures to know it. He could **feel** it. Besides, there were at least 10 too many missing bodies for the whole “ghost nonsense” to be swept as a coincidence. 

But even in the power duo’s super-sleuthing, neither Pidge and her manipulation nor Hunk and his gentle “suggesting” could find a ghost whisperer. And yes. They’ve checked. Multiple times. There’s no one else. For real. 

So as it turned it out, there was literally _no other person_ to do the ghost hunting business. 

With little more than a pat on the back and what felt like a sucker punch to the face, Keith’s friends sent him on his merry way. Pidge had tempted him with her knowledge of cases gone cold from about a decade past. He was seduced by the challenge of a mystery. (Lance agitated him with his ceaseless prodding and ill-placed mysticism.)

And uhh. That’s how he finds himself now at a splintering, molding, wilting wood house at the farthest edge of town on a Saturday afternoon. He sits on his bike a few moments just to take in the scene. The dark house looms over him, chained to stationary decay at a crumbling cul-de-sac. 

Pidge had granted him luck and a flashlight. Lance had given him knock-off ghost hunting gear and an old videocamera. Hunk had given him a bone-crushing hug and even more cheap gear. _Thanks, buddy._

When Keith called Shiro about it, all he said was _be careful._

Well. He could try his damnedest.

He isn’t sure how well he can achieve those means walking up the creaking, rotting steps. The planks groan under his feet but he dutifully ignores the sour noises and sour residue sticking to his boots. Everything around Keith’s person just feels… icky. On either side of the house, vines had wrapped themselves around boards of wood. Browning thorns had fitted themselves in between the cracks up the sides. Any attempt at landscaping had been completely overgrown for at least a few good decades. The vines crept up and down the side of the house, hovering near the gutters, and spilled over on the porch. All of them tapered off in brittle points directed toward the door.

The front door itself was already dangling halfway off its hinges, the porch weather-worn and. Just… sad. The whole house was weighed down under the burden of its anguish. If all that doesn’t scream _ghost_ to Keith, he doesn’t know what would.

Before he can look up and see the bowing roof; the shattered windows; the cob-webbed windowsills; he jostles the handle to stride right through the foyer. The soft early-evening sun is more than enough outside, but inside, the house is nearly pitch black. His flashlight will have to be suffice. 

As he walks through the house he. He isn't actually that sure what to expect. Or even what to look for. Lance said the ghost was a girl so, _she’s gotta be a babe then, right_? Pidge had scorned him saying, _you have absolutely no idea what age she is. Is it a teenage girl? A toddler, God forbid? These reports are piss-poor at best, and contradictory at mid-kindest._

Keith had accidentally snapped at her to talk net.

 _Right, sorry. The most I can get from this goose chase is her general haunting vicinity, which would likely be this house here,_ she had pointed at her laptop, _and that she’s female._ Pidge shifted the laptop back to herself. _That’s about as good as it gets. Sorry, dude._

With vagueness, crappy equipment and an even crappier locale to set himself in, he ventures farther into the house.

Keith _hates_ going in ignorance.

He hates unsolved mysteries even more.

Somehow, the mysteries seem to pile up the farther he wanders. He shines his flashlight up to faded picture frames. He doesn’t dare get any closer to make out the faces. Beneath him, the ground shifts from icky to _musky_. All the carpeting and flooring is permanently stained and tarnished. He tries not to inhale the foul smell too much. 

He moves his flashlight back up to look for a light switch. He finds one, flips it up, and… nothing. The house remains as densely dark as ever, not even a spark of electric feedback from his toggling. The distinct lack of sparking puts Keith off more than anything else. 

This house isn't that abnormal, really. Aside from the cliché overrunning of vines and overt _darkness_ , it really was just an old, abandoned house. Well. Abandoned, if a bit quiet. 

Keith's introspection is interrupted when he remembers why he's actually at the house in the first place. _The ghost!_ He stops waving his flashlight in idle curiosity, and determinedly re-begins his search.

He flicks his light to his left, illuminating an absurdly intact staircase. It’s a good start as any. Nothing of import catches Keith’s attention as he walks up, but stops when he approaches the landing. There’s only one door to open. Well. That makes things easier.

He carelessly turns the doorknob-

only to be _thrown_ to his back, his neck too close to the stairs for his liking. And _God_ these people weren't kidding when they said _wailing._

Between gripping his flashlight, getting himself upright or covering his ears to block the piercing sounds, his hands just kind of go everywhere. _No wonder the windows were busted through!_  

Priorities, Keith.

The gaps in his fingers trying to hold the flashlight and ghost gear still let the noise through, so he drops it all. Awkwardly he kneels, then pushes himself up. The sound persists. With the corner of his elbow he turns the doorknob again, physically _feeling_ this girl’s screaming in his chest as he walks farther in. The shrieks are so loud, he swears he can feel his eyes watering. Not for a second does he fear if his wellness is worth it, but fears for his hearing by the end of this excursion. He walks farther in.

With supernatural clarity he spots the source of the screams, standing dead-center in the room.  

Surrounding the ghost lie piles and piles of glittering glass shards. The wood floor and walls look sturdy and polished. The trim is fresh, well-maintained. Nothing adorns the room save for a bare side-table and light curtains. 

Oh, and of course; the screaming girl herself. Right. In the middle. Of the loft. 

“Hey! Hey!” Keith calls. He doesn’t think it would have worked even if she _could_ _hear him_ over her shrieking. “ **Hey!** ” He stomps on the floor in another attempt.

Maybe she feels the vibrations, maybe she opened her eyes and saw Keith stepping in the room, maybe she took a half-second breath and heard his yelling. Whatever it was, she falls silent. Noise stops. It all stops.

In the middle of her loft, the girl stands stunned. Alone. By the threshold of the door Keith hangs on to the trim with a wary arm, his ears ringing. He gives a half-hearted wave to her, exhaling. 

“Hey.”

The house settles in tranquil silence. Keith’s ears _hurt_. The girl seems to be catching her breath with an expression like surprise, confusion and dismay. 

Keith can understand that feel.

As he peers at the girl’s- actually. He doesn’t feel right calling her a “girl”, anymore.

He sweeps in her appearance hastily, first noticing her white hair. Her chest rises and falls and Keith swears her hair’s pale strands glitter like the broken glass. But _good grief_ it almost reaches down to her waist, frazzled and frizzy. Her dark skin camouflages her in the loft’s heavy shadow. When she collects herself, standing with her chin held high, Keith knows that is not the posture of a lost little girl. What he sees is a burdened, tortured woman. 

Keith wonders precisely how long is _too_ long to stare at a ghost’s eyes before it’s considered rude. Also, how can they look that… _alive_? Isn’t this lady supposed to be dead?

“Oh, damn.” The woman mutters.

“Come again?”

She startles like she just realized she wasn’t alone. (As if she hasn’t been staring at Keith herself for the past minute.) She smoothes down her hair, clears her voice and says,

“I was so sure that was going to work.”

“That what was going to work? Your screaming bloody murder?” Keith realizes his ill wording too late. Ah well.

“Yes, my screaming ‘bloody murder’”.

Keith moves his eyes erratically about him. “And it was supposed to do… exactly what? Keep me out?”

“Yes, precisely. Oh don't take it personally. I just. If you were me, you’d see how quickly tiring it all is.”

The lady sweeps some glass shards away with her foot to sit down. When she droops her head, Keith sees how truly _exhausted_ she is. He suddenly understands just where the house’s anguished atmosphere began. _That's one mystery solved._ Even so, it only cropped up more whirl-winding questions for Keith. He starts by asking,“What’s so tiring?” 

She looks up to him with this fake, weak and withering smile. Even someone like Keith could spot a broken smile when it was _that_ manufactured. He tries again, “what’s so tiring?” She only shakes her head in response. 

Okay.

He goes in at another angle.“Well why did you want to keep me out? Or, keep people away.”

“Well sir,” she begins venomously, “you tell me how much _you_ like it when people trespass your home every week and wake you from a nap. Summon you against your will. Tarnish your father’s last bequeathed sentiment…” she finishes numbly.

“I guess I-“ Keith looks at her pathetic stature, broken and splintered like the glass. “I guess I wouldn’t like it very much.”

“No. No you wouldn’t.” 

She inhales. She brushes glass from her skirts. Torrentially she stomps toward Keith with a disapproving frown. Was it his crossed arms, his expression, his… Was it something he said to make her so mad so fast? She stops when they’re nearly nose-to-nose. Her voice sweeps him under a tidal wave.

“Are you going to be another one like them? Do you come into my home only intending to steal what isn’t yours, disturb my fragile silence? I’ll tell you something, the last time I ever had quiet was the day I died. _Not that you need to know when that was_. In any case, I’m sorry to disappoint. There’s nothing here for you to take.” She finally spots his flashlight. “And you can take that with you on your way out. I’m sick of needlers and meddlers and reporters. You’ve spent too much time here already, you can-“

“Wait, wait, wait.” Keith puts his hands out, hovering around her shoulders. “I’m not any of those things. I’m sorry your uh, screaming didn’t work on me but. I’m not a needler. Or a meddler. Or a reporter, I’m none of those things. I didn’t mean to disturb your silence. I was just curious.”

The woman runs a hand through her long hair, stopping to play with split ends. Her dissatisfaction is just raining raining raining on Keith.

“Curious.” 

“Yes.”

She seems to consider something a moment. He’ll never know what it was because she shakes her head and says,

“Alright. I can trust that. But don’t make me regret apologizing for accusing you. You just... you really can't imagine how the past few years have been like.”

Now, was “past few years” a euphemism, or did this woman seriously loose track of time she's spent in the house? He doesn’t think it crass to ask for confirmation.

“When did you die?”

Nailed it.

“What did I _just say_ about not making me regret anything.” The woman says impatiently.

“I mean, like, do you really not remember how long you’ve been stuck in this house? Also, how does that work? How does this whole-“ Keith runs a hand up and down in front of her, “ghost thing work? I swear, I’m not trying to ‘get’ anything out of you. I just-”

“You just ‘had a few questions’, right?”

“Well yeah, actually-“

“Save it.” She snaps her eyes to his and stops playing with her hair. “The days are long enough as it is.” She steps away, an ocean receding from the shore. “Don’t make it any longer.” A calm before a storm.

He thinks he can salvage this broken conversation. Well, Keith figures it wouldn’t be right to go to someone’s house (much less a ghost’s,) without a house-warming gift. He grants her with something he would hardly live parting with. His gift is worth more than his life, itself. Internally he apologizes for its lack of wrapping and finesse.

He gifts her with his name. 

“I’m Keith.”

The woman’s hair swoops behind her when she turns to face him again. “Well Keith,” she nods, “thank you for dropping by and… not harassing me. It’s rare to meet someone who doesn’t gawk first, ask questions later. But even letting your presence be known makes your welcome overstayed. Farewell.”

Her words are short and clipped. They leave no room for negotiation. She pivots once more, gliding away from Keith. As she walks to the windowsill she pays no mind to the  crunching and shifting glass shards under her bare feet. Her footsteps then stop echoing. Her shine recedes. Quickly she vanishes before Keith can blink next.

For a split-second, Keith forgot he was talking with an apparition and not a person. A real person. A _live_ , _corporeal_ person, dammit.

_So. That just happened._

In a daze he walks out the room and down the steps. Retrieving his flashlight, his camera, his gear? They’re all afterthoughts. He crams them all in his backpack in shell-shocked muscle-memory.

The creaking wood and groaning steps out the house all half-register in his mind. Dazy, dazy, dazy it resounds. He rides his bike home in a daze. Dazed and confused. All of this thoughts are everywhere. Just half-baked suggestions that dwindle off into dazy threads. He wishes he could follow even one of his diaphanous thoughts. 

Then he really _doesn’t_ wish for that as his ambivalent hyper-fixation almost drives him off the road. Maybe don’t crash into the ditch, dude? Pidge, Lance and Hunk still need to know about the ghost! Keith thinks he can focus on getting home safe, first. That’s probably smart.

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. His vision immediately shrinks down to the highway ahead of him and his thin peripheral beside him. The streamlined breeze whips around him and hugs his thighs tight. He focuses on that. He focuses on the way his bike rumbles and roars beneath him. He focuses on the way his leather gloves and jacket shift when he moves.

But even with all his focusing, he cannot for the life of him get the woman with the hair like moonglow and eyes like starlight out of his mind.

Somehow, he gets home in one piece.

Physically.

He barely gets through the door of his apartment before the smell of dinner and the onslaught of questions assault him. He deals with the questions first.

Pidge gets right to the heart of the matter. “Well, well? Was she there, did you get any footage of her?” She claws at Keith’s shoulder to reach the ghost-hunting equipment, harshly unzipping backpack pockets. “Let's see the goods! Come on, tell us!”

Lance follows in curiosity. “Dude, was I right? Was she a babe? She was a babe, right. I knew it.”

Keith shrugs off his backpack, handing the whole thing to Pidge. Maybe she'll forgive him for not getting any data for her. 

He turns back to face Lance, sighing. “Why is that always the first thing you ask.”

Lance is positively scandalized. He holds a palm to his chest, one blasphemy away from fainting. “It is not _always_ the first question I ask!” Keith raises an eyebrow at that. “Don't give me that look. Sometimes I ask if _he’s_ a babe.”

Hunk emerges the kitchen with dinner in one hand and a condescending shoulder-pat in the other. He mouths _pobrecito_ at Lance as he sets the table. _Hunk thinks he's being clever keeping himself occupied, but Keith can see the excitement all over his face._

Mercifully, the resident ghost-hunter ends the suspense (completely ignoring the fact the three were all _waiting at his apartment_ to come home.) As they eat, Keith doesn't bother burying the lead.

“I talked with her.”

Pidge drops her fork. " _You talked with her_?"

“Yeah. I just… said. That."

“Dude you talked with a _ghost_!” Lance slams his hands on the table.

“That's pretty cool, bro.” Hunk smiles.

“Yeah, yeah that's cool and everything but what did she _say_?”

Pidge scowls. "You know Lance, we could have known what she said if _someone_ had bothered to take any recordings.”

Three disapproving frowns shoot their way to Keith.

“I, uh. Sorry about that. I went inside and I pretty much forgot about them. She was pretty loud. _She was so loud_ ,” he ends in a whisper.

Pidge double-tasks eating and interrogating. “Then that brings us back to our original question of what exactly she said. We're waiting on baited breath, here.”

When Keith looks around the table Pidge, Lance and Hunk all nod in agreement. Apprehensively, he starts telling his ghost busting experience. 

“Well…” he hesitates. _Why not just start at the beginning?_ “Okay.” He begins with the house itself. “When I got there, I was surprised. The house looks worse than the pictures. Seriously. The pictures do it no justice, and not in a good way. The wood was rotted, the garden was overgrown, everything was dead. Still, something was pulling me to walk in farther. It was so strong, I couldn’t ignore it. So I walked. I brought my backpack and flashlight with me. That was pretty much it.

“I walked in the house only to find it was _pitch black._ I couldn't see my hand in front of me. There wasn't anything really important downstairs so I walked the stairs up. The more I climbed though, the louder it got.”

“The girl? You said the ghost was loud, right?” Hunk interrupted.

"Yeah.” Keith nodded. “She was screaming. She was screaming her head off.”

“ _What_?”

“I know, Lance. I know. You’d never believe this girl was a ghost. She looked, she sounded, she moved so real. So _alive._ Oh yeah, speaking of which, Pidge. She isn't a kid. This woman had to be at the very least…” Keith considers. “19. At least.”

Lance points a finger in her face. “Hah! I _was_ right! She’s a _woman_ and this woman is a _babe_.” He puffs his chest. “Score one for Lance. How’s about that."

Pidge sticks her tongue out while Keith holds up a finger.

“I wouldn’t call her a ‘babe’, but.” He tries to find an appropriate adjective for her. _Beautiful_? No, that’s. No. Not to say she _isn’t_ , but. No. _Charming_? Please, a screaming ghost is hardly a charming first impression. _Alive_? Keith’s already used that one. He thinks and thinks and thinks. 

The more he thinks, the more he zones out. His friends catch on fast. 

“But what,” Lance goads. “You look like you're having a little trouble."

“But nothing,” Keith snaps to him. “Anyway, it’s not important. I didn’t even get her name, she pretty much threw me out of the house once she was done with her banshee yelling.”

Pidge’s mouth drops wide open. She looks first to Lance and Hunk, then even more wildly to Keith.

“So what you’re telling me is that you went in the creepy house, she screamed at you, talked a bit, then _left?”_

“Yes, yes that's what happened.” Keith nods.

“And you didn't get _anything_? Nothing on tape, nothing written down? Holy _quiznack_ , Keith!” she groans in frustration. “Her name is what you _start_ with!” 

“Well to be fair,” Hunk says, “she was screaming. Like, the whole time. At least that's what Keith said I mean, I don’t. I don't know. I wasn't there. But it sounds legit.”

Lance returns a belittling shoulder-pat to Hunk. His curling smirk says _fair play_. “There, there, Hunk. Pobrecito _lindo,_ It’s not going to be ‘legit’ until we get some real evidence."

“There’s only one option I see here, boys.”

They all look to Pidge in anticipation for her grand reveal. She doesn't keep her audience waiting and pronounces,

“Keith.”

He snaps to attention.

“You have to go back.”

His attention is stunted.

“What?”

Lance and Hunk look expectantly to Pidge. Her eyebrows and smile are too clever for Keith’s comfortability. She repeats, “you have to go back, Keith.”

“To… the house?” his neck involuntarily stretches. 

“No, to the nail salon. Yes the house, Murray. Get your ghost-busting on. Bring your camera again and get us some actual footage. I want to know what she says, what she looks like. I want to know what her fricking _name_ is.”

“Seconded,” says Lance.

Pidge cuts him off continuing, “She spared you last time, so that means if you go back she'll recognize your face and hopefully won’t try that ‘banshee yelling’ thing. We all good? I think we’ve got a solid plan.” 

“You know,” Keith scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know why we can’t get literally anyone else to do it. Like, why can’t one of you guys do it? It doesn't have to be me. Does it?"

Pidge bobs her head. “I was about to say no, but. No. It can’t be anyone but you, not anymore.” She points a finger to Lance, Hunk and herself. “None of us have seen her. That would just be one more person to be suspicious of. _You_ have to go back, _you_ have to give her someone to trust. At least trust enough to get on film. It shouldn’t be hard since she looked and moved ‘so real’, right?”

Keith shrugs his shoulders. “I guess so.”

“Then it’s settled. Bring your backpack again, don’t drop the camera this time. Even if she screams, even if she tries to smack it out of your hand. Not even kidding my dude. Are you up for it?”

When Keith sees his friends’ wide, shimmering eyes, he knows there’s only one right answer.

“Yeah. I guess I'm up for it.”

And he’s going to get the ghost’s name this time, damn it. Even if his ears _bleed_.

 

—

 

The following Saturday finds him staring up at a familiar sight. He swings his leg off his bike, and spends only half the time gawking at the house as he did last week. Walking up the steps is just as unpleasant an always. Distantly, he deliberates bringing his pocket knife just to scrape the crap off the bottom of his boots. He thinks better of it, though, so he won’t.

Yet.

He reaches the weathered door once more. It’s… God it’s so sad.

As a joke, he lifts his fist and knocks gently. Nothing answers back and he’s all the more glad for it. (He doesn’t know what he would do if something had responded.)

Keith wastes no time flinging his flash-light around, striding right towards the stairs instead. He reaches the loft door and puts his ear against it. He can’t hear any glass tinkling, soft breathing or hair rustling. _She might not even be in this room this time._ He waits a second more before softly pushing open the door.

He swears, one second she wasn't there. Now she is. 

 _Yeah. That happens. She’s a_ ghost _, moron._

The woman’s quick perusal of Keith's form is so sharp it makes him want to grab her shoulders and say _drop your weapon_! She beats him to the punch with a non-greeting.

“You’re back.” She forgives his intrusion. 

He non-greets back. “I am.” 

He looks around the room. It looks ever so slightly better now that he can actually _see_ what he’s looking at. “You’re not screaming this time,” he mumbles.

“No, I’m not.” The ghosts's eyes follow his.

“I appreciate that."

He stops looking around. She meets his eyes. Keith wants to shrink under her hypnotizing eye-contact, but he can't find the strength to look away.

This awkward silence also needs to break, but he can’t let himself want too much at one time. Either she or he is going to break eye-contact. She looks pretty fierce, so he's doubting it's going to be the ghost. Either she or he is going to break the silence, too. For both of their sakes, he’s really _really_ hoping she’ll be the one to break it first.

It’s uh.

It’s not really looking like it.

Looks like it’s all up to him. That’s what he gets for hoping! Keith blurts the very first thing that comes to mind. 

“What’s your name?”

The woman looks unfairly taken aback by that. It’s an easy question, right? He gave her his name, it would only be right to have hers in return. 

It’s almost like she’s chewing on something as she slowly grounds out, “Allura.”

“Allura? That’s your name?” 

Sounds like ‘alluring’. _Very apt._ Lance would have such a field day with her name, Keith swears his life on it. He could hardly argue that the sharpness of the woman’s eyes and her hair’s gloss _isn’t_ alluring. The regal way she moves, the smooth accent of her voice are both helping and hurting his case, too. Her skin and hair and dress just look so soft. So do her lips…

Wait, what. 

When ghost and hunter both return from their mind wanderings, Allura can’t seem to make up her mind between nodding and shaking her head. She tries to start the conversation a few times, but each time, falls short. 

Keith doesn’t feel pressured into blurting when he speaks next. Softly he says,

“I like it. Your name, that is.”

“Thank you,” Allura automatically replies. She takes the time to process what he’s said. “Oh! Oh thank, you Keith. It’s quite nice to meet you,” she holds her hand out for his to shake. Keith looks to her hand, then up to her face. He puts his hand out not really sure what to expect. She wraps her cool fingers around his and Keith is _freaking out_ , _freaking_ ** _out_**. The woman’s hand doesn’t doesn’t pass through Kieth’s. Not quite. It feels… more like a plasma? Slowly he takes her hand in his, waiting for the chill to run up his arm and down his back. It doesn’t. Her chill stays around his palm, as it ought. 

_He’s shaking hands with a ghost and it's mostly tangible._

“It really is good to meet you. I promise. Yours is a face I could get used to and I sincerely apologize for my hysterics last week. I’m also sorry for my hesitation now, it’s just that. Well. It’s been a long time since anyone has asked for my name. These people that come to my father’s house only come to take.” She laughs bitterly to herself. “They’re rather lousy houseguests, wouldn’t you say?”

Keith huffs a kindred laugh in turn despite himself. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Her smile looks less fake than last week’s, so Keith counts that as progress. The ensuing silence isn’t as awkward as mere moments before. He counts that as progress, too. 

This little pause is comfortable to Keith. (Or, as comfortable as it can be for him in the presence of a beautiful, half-tangible apparition.) Finally he can let the conversation flow the way he’d want it to.

“What do these people take, Allura?”

She inhales. “My peace, mostly. I know it must seem small to you, but you don’t realize how much respect and space mean until you don't have it. Please don't take respect for granted.” She sighs on her exhale. “When I was first bound to the house I would beg to my father's will and every misplaced shadow that some noise would come my way. I would ask for the laughter of children. Maybe a car and a radio. Something, anything to disturb the silence. It was silent for so long.

“Then the noise came. I guess my begging was finally heard.” Allura’s scoff is sardonic and waxy. “After a few birds, electrical outages and such, the first sounds I eventually heard were the robbers.”

Keith takes a step into the loft. “The _what_?”

“Oh, yes. My father’s house had quite a few rounds of thieves. He couldn’t put me on his will because I had to stay and protect the house. He couldn’t leave his belongings to my mother; she’s already been long dead. Friends were few, and family was even fewer. There was quite a bit still left in the house when he passed, and I’ve never met a man picky about taking what isn’t his. Or hers.”

“That's awful, Allura. That’s not right.”

The woman sets her hands on top of Keith's when they unwittingly rise. Peacefully she agrees with him,

“You’re right. It isn’t. But what can be done?” He open his mouth, but she quickly diverts. “Nothing. I can do nothing, now. What’s done is done. I commend your… tenacity to make things right, but I’ve made peace with the state of how things are. Will I still be angry about how much they took, about how much those mementos meant to me? Of course I will.”

“Well how much did they take? What did they take in the first place?” Keith’s voice raises with passion. 

 _To take advantage of an abandoned house, well that's one thing. But to rob a house while it_ wasn’t actually _empty_? _She likely saw these men come in and out of her house, taking what they could without a second thought._ He can feel his fights clench under Allura’s relaxed hold.

“Oh, first it was the big stuff,” she answers. “Furniture, his old grandfather clock. I wasn’t all that attached to them, but still. Then they took my jewelry, my mother’s jewelry that my father kept. It seemed like the smaller the thing was was, the more it hurt when it was taken. People took my father's clothes, then mine. Rugs, supplies, and art was the next to go. All of that save the jewelry was fairly inconsequential. Then it,” Allura takes a shuddering breath. “Then my dolls were taken. After they took my father's belongings, they took mine. My old projects and notebooks, those were easy to part with.” Her voice brakes more with each breath taken.

“They took my diary, Keith. After the house was bare and they stole my memories, how much dignity could I let myself pretend I had left? They left some pictures of my father and I together, but they didn’t do much good. How much good can they really do me when I can hardly remember what _I_ look like on good days? Much less my father. Much less my mother,” she ends weakly.

“Allura I'm so sorry.”

Subconsciously she leans into Keith’s gentle hand on her shoulder. She tilts her head back to blink away forming tears, and Keith graciously avoids drawing attention to them. She recollects herself, verbal prostration at the ready.

“Please! Please don’t be sorry to me, oh my goodness. No, good gracious. I promise I did _not_ mean to offload all of that on you. I guess that was just waiting to come out for a while. It was just brewing, what with all of this” Allura gestures vaguely, “silence.”

Keith faintly chuckles. “I can imagine.”

They lower their hands together. Allura wraps her glowing, translucent arms around herself, echoing a pathetic chuckle herself.

“Thank you very much for listening, Keith. This was… this was a bit therapeutic. I think, maybe, this was the kind of noise I wanted when I asked my father. I appreciate you listening to me, and not calling out at me for amusement. Or to entertain you. I always have to explain to the rowdy teenagers that I can’t manipulate the light fixtures with my ‘ghost powers’. I can’t even get them to work manually.”

Keith looks to her. The lonely spirit's smile only grows and grows. _Good grief_! He lets himself laugh full and deep. Slowly, incrementally, _radiantly_ her laughter joins his. 

For either mere moments or eternal minutes they stand by the loft’s door, laughing at Allura’s ‘ghost powers’. Or maybe they laugh at nothing much at all. Either way, Keith can’t bring himself to care. (Maybe this is another sound Allura could have asked her father for all those years ago.) He lets himself bask in the sound of Allura’s dwindling laugh. They both calm into another stretch of silence, but Keith doesn’t think they’ve ever shared one quite so loaded.

He juts his thumb towards the stairs. “Yeah, I screwed with the lights earlier. I tried turning the switch downstairs on and off but nothing happened. Nothing. At all. Does all the electricity in this house just, not work?”

“Ha! You’re right, it doesn’t.” In that infuriatingly delicate way Keith hates so much, Allura walks over the glass to look out her window. “There’s a few reasons for that.” He doesn’t know whether to stay by the door or follow. “Come back next week, and you just might find out why.” Then she vanishes.

“Oh. Right. Well okay.”

But he makes no move to walk away from the door quite yet. He tests her resolve to see if she’ll pop out behind him just to say _‘gotchya_!’, but she doesn’t.

So. 

He guesses that’s it for today, then.

“ _DAMMIT_!”

Yeah, it’s going to _have_ to be it because he forgot to break out the camera again! Way to go, Keith. Pidge is going to have another cow. Lance is going to poke it with a stick and Hunk will have to cook it for dinner.

He thoroughly does not enjoy his ride home.

 

—

Just like last week, all three of Keith's friends wait for him with baited breath. They get so caught up waiting apparently, that dinner didn’t even cross their minds before he walked through the door. The second he turns his key in the lock he hears a loud crash. Following the crash are perfuse _sorry, sorry’_ s! and disgruntled muttering. 

Ah. At least he can count on Hunk to quantify the time the three spend squatting in Keith’s home. Granted, repayment will always come by the way of food, but he can’t find any fault with that. 

Lance and Pidge have no such decorum of “repayment" before they hound Keith with questions.

“Her name! Her name, her name!” Pidge demands. Keith hasn’t even slipped his shoes off before her shouts round through his apartment.

This week, it’s not she but Lance that yanks Keith’s backpack from his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah okay.” Lance shoves Pidge away. “But I want to see what this chic looks like.” He unzips the front pocket, turns on the camera, elated face suddenly plummeting harder than the Tower of Babylon. “There’s nothing on here! _What the hell_ , dude.”

“Seriously?” Pidge squawks. She smacks Lance’s hand away from the camera. “There’s _nothing on here_!”

“Yeah, that’s been established.” Keith says exasperated.

Hunk stops pretending to be productive in the kitchen to get in on the drama. “What! Keith! But you promised you would get some footage of her this time! Now how are Pidge and I going to placate Ms. Smirckle from her questions about the ghost?” he chews on his nails.

“Actually, I never promised anything.” 

“Regardless,” Pidge dismisses. “Did you get her name, at least? Please, please tell me you got her name. If nothing else. We’ll think about forgiving you if you at least tell us her name.”

Keith smiles to himself as he tells them, “Her name is Allura.” Exactly none of his friends miss his smile’s flavor.

“Allura, huh?” Lance predictably intones. “She’s gotta be-“

Keith holds up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t say it.” 

“Say what? What could I have possibly said that you would have a problem with."

“Pfft.” Pidge blows a raspberry in Keith’s behalf. “I don’t think you want him to answer that.

“Well, we got a name. That’s a good start. Did she yell this time?” Hunk asks.

Keith shakes his head. “No. No screaming. Actually, she uh. She kind of made a joke today.”

“Oh look, a joke, ghost girl’s got the funnies.” Lance says. Keith pays him no mind. 

“I feel bad for her, though.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

Keith looks sadly at Hunk. Sweet, kind, generous Hunk. His innocent and guileless tone says everything.

“She had to watch as her entire house got stripped bare” Keith ruefully begins. “The only things that remain at the house are shattered windows, dirty carpets and forgotten photos of she and her dad. I don’t envy her anger. I don’t blame her for it, either. Everything that she’s really loved has been taken from her. Her family, her peace, her quiet. Hell, even her house has been taken from her and she still lives there.” He halts. The amends. “Haunts there. Resides there. Whatever."

His friends look to him, stricken. Shamefully they bow their heads in conviction. They regret heckling Keith with such petty questions. (Of course they do _now_ , now that they’re getting the other side of the story.) They look to each other, silently prodding to console or assuage Keith. 

Lance humbles himself first.

“We’re sorry, dude. We had no idea. There’s nothing to know about this woman except for the fact that she’s connected to all the missing people and her old house. We had no idea she lost so much.”

“Well that's just it, isn't it.” Keith snaps. “You _didn’t_ know, and yet you made all these assumptions about her. You couldn't just leave her alone. You had to send me to do your dirty work for you. Does it alleviate your shame any? Now that she trusts _me_ to invade her space instead of you? That I know her story, while you still demand that I film her, get footage of her? Does it?”

The more Keith speaks, the more his fervor ignites.

“Listen. _I_ don’t even know her story. I know only a small, small part of it. Now, I’m going to keep going back to learn more of it, but what will it take for _you_ stop? How much more am I going to need to trespass for you to be satisfied. Is this another project for you to tinker with, Pidge? Are you going to take scans to check for more paranormal activity, Hunk? You wanna come with me so you _can hit on her_ , Lance?!”

Lance lays a hand on Keith’s frenzied, heaving chest.

“Chill, brother.”

An exhale. Keith acquiesces. He nods his head. Faster he nods as he deepens his breaths. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean all that. I think I’m just frustrated.”

“Frustrated by what?” Lance gestures to Keith, and they sit down at the dining table together. For the first time since he’s gotten home, Keith can finally breathe. He answers Lance’s question as honest and concisely as he can.

As he dares.

“Frustrated for her. So much was taken from her. Frustrated by the people that keep messing with her. All she wanted to do was honor her father’s last wishes, and she can’t even do that much. Not well at least, when she’s summoned at least once a week by people who only want to harass her. I’m frustrated by _her,_ herself.”

“Ooh, hoo.” Pidge taps her fingers on the table. "This better be good."

Hunk puts a finger to her mouth. “Pidge, please.”

“Yeah I’m frustrated by her,” Keith continues, blissfully ignorant of the sly looks exchanged around him. “Last week she screamed her head off at me, then pretty much kicked me out. This week we talked, kind of. She told me about her father and a bit about the house but that's it. I asked her a question, then she just decided to-“ he wiggles his fingers, “- vanish. Into thin air. That wasn’t the first time she’s done it, either."

Lance nods sagely. “Then lads,” and looks to Pidge, “and lass. I think there’s only one solution.”

“Oh my gosh, Lance. Shut up.” Pidge grimaces. “Stop trying to steal my jokes. Keith, just go back to the house. We’re sorry we were on you so much, okay? I guess we were all a little excited. We got caught up in trying to uncover this mystery that obviously wasn't meant for us to uncover. But I think for your own sake, you should definitely try to talk to her again if you can. I’m encouraging this to you without an angle,” she finishes in a mumble, “ _if you can believe it._ ”

“I agree,” Hunk smiles. “Go back to the house. Talk with Allura more. This could be good for the both of you- _oof_.” His smile cracks from Lance’s gentle elbow to the gut. “And please give our deepest apologies to her when you see her next. That would be greatly appreciated.”

“I was kind of… planning on going back, anyway” Keith says. “There’s a lot more questions I want to ask her. And who knows? Maybe she’ll agree to an interview. Maybe. In the future.”

“Hey, that’s the spirit, buddy!” Lance gives Keith’s back a hearty pat. “‘Maybe’ is better than never. We’ll take what we can get.” All niceties he’s been posturing disappear when he corners Hunk next. 

“So pal.” Lance asks perhaps the most important question of the night. “What’s for dinner?”

 

—

 

Unfortunately for Keith, the house doesn’t get any less creepy the more he visits. His walk up the stairs feel as mucky as usual. The vines are browner than the rotting meat in Shiro’s fridge. The front door still hangs weary, unstable and splintered. (It reminds him a bit of someone he knows.)

He opens the door, looks inside and… isn’t completely swallowed by darkness. That’s new.

As a matter of fact, if Keith didn’t know any better he’d say the house seemed _bright_. Nope, nope not exactly ‘bright’. But certainly not as oppressively dark as it’s been in the weeks past. 

He likes that he can bound up the steps without fooling with his flashlight.

When he pushes open he door to the loft, he looks down to see Allura amidst the glass. She looks neither shocked nor surprised to see him, only standing and shaking out her skirts. She regards him quietly and greets him at the door.

“Keith. Good to see you. I’ve been expecting your company.”

Ah. Well. That answers that lack of surprise.

What does Keith do with himself now? Was that an invitation to come in? Awkwardly he shuffles his feet as he waits for further permission. He shouldn’t really need _permission_ to enter the loft at this point, should he? 

Allura has pity on Keith and waves him in. Oh! But it seems like this week, they’re not alone. Joining their company sits a modest side table by the bay window. On top is a whistling teapot, ornate saucers and cups, set complete with sugar and creamer. 

Keith’s never had tea before.

Neat.

“Come, come sit down, Keith! Would you like to share some tea?” the woman bids with a  serene smile.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Why not?” He follows Allura in, his boots crunching the ground obnoxiously the whole way over. They sit down, Allura pours the tea, but all of Keith’s thoughts circle around a few questions. 

One question? That’s a lie.

He’s only really got one question in particular.

“So, Allura…” he tries gently. “I like your china. But I thought you said the robbers took everything?” 

Allura commends his attempt at gentle. She giggles, assuaging, “Oh Keith. Who said the china was mine?”

And he leaves that be right away.

“Sugar and cream?” she holds up the little dishes.

“Just sugar, please” he meekly requests.

As she divvies up the flavoring, she smiles as confidently as she can to the turbulent young man in front of her. (The light coming in through the window lights his black hair red, gold and blue, reminding her of bonfires from her childhood. The widow’s glow wraps around the contours of his cheekbones. They slide down the steep curve of his nose.) 

She was about to say words of assurance to him, but the more as she gazes, the more she thinks she may need some words of her own.

Keith is too handsome for the conversation she had planned. With his _broad_ _shoulders_ and _toned arms_ and those sculpted muscles Allura can see concaving under his shirt that she needs to _run her hands all over_. His silky hair that she can’t believe she's actually jealous of. This is ridiculous. She digresses. 

A quick gauge of Keith’s expression tells her he’s not too put off by her staring. Admiring. Whatever. What it really tells her is that she can still save face, so she goes for it.

Pulling punches has never been part of her forte, anyway. Candidly she says,

“While I do appreciate your company, please have no misgivings about this meeting. Under few circumstances do I trust you very much. The living are still as meddlesome and trifling as always. As it happens, you’re good enough to meddle and trifle the _least_. So. Thank you for being part of my temporary solution to alleviate the silence.”

Keith takes a sip of his tea. Nods tersely. “I’m glad you’ve found some purpose for my being here. I’m sorry not a single living soul you’ve met can be redeemed. If you really feel that, why don't I leave right now?”

Allura watches as he… he’s actually putting down his cup! He’s actually leaving. 

“Keith.” She reaches a hand over his wrist. “Please, oh please don’t take it personally. You realize I haven’t had the best selection of people to make a foundation for ‘redemption’, yes? It’s been quite a number of years I’ve stayed in this house, but not a single person that’s come has been as benign as you. You’re the first person to come and honestly listen to me. But really, Keith. Let me ask you this: if there were any good _living souls_ out there, in all the years I’ve been in here, why haven’t they made themselves known to me?”

He bows his head. “Well damn, Allura. What the hell do you think _I’m_ doing here?” he concedes.

Keith’s answer was certainly not the answer Allura expected. It wasn’t _any_ of the answers she expected from him. Frankly, his whispered concession humbles and agitates her simultaneously. She doesn’t really know what to do about either restless energies. Silently she tramples over them, condemning them away.

Apparently her condemning takes too long though, prompting Keith to fill the silence. Smooth it over. Stitch it up with nervous, shaking hands.

“Do you still appreciate my company?”

“I- I do. Yes.”

Keith looks into his teacup. (Is he looking to it for answers, or as an aversion to Allura’s fading eyes?) 

“Even though I’m a ‘living soul’?”

Oh. Allura understands the beckon of the mystic tea-steam. She flits her eyes between her hot teacup and outside the bay widows behind Keith. They settle somewhere near his hands as she confesses,

“Especially since you’re a living soul.”

Come to think about it, Allura has never pulled punches when addressing Keith. He’s never been the type to do so, either. Which makes it all the more permissible to him when he says  he’s got something to tell her. 

“Something to tell me?” the ghost’s eyes dilate with curiosity.

“About… me.”

“You?”

Keith bobs his head side to side. “Well no, not me specifically. But my friends.”

“What about your friends?” Allura taps her cup, a rapid _chink! chink! chink!_

“They’re the ones that wanted me to come here.”

“I’m sorry?”

“They’re the ones who wanted me to come here, to your house. Pidge read headlines about hauntings, saw photos of your house and persuaded me into coming. As an added bonus I got ‘ghost-hunting’ gear that I’m not going to use, but who am I to refuse free stuff? Either way, I’m here, but only because of Pidge. And Hunk. Lance just wanted in on the fun. When the reports starting coming in, that’s when things started getting serious.”

“The reports?”

“Yeah,” Keith sips his rapidly cooling tea. _Oh, finally_. “Pidge went to Hunk and together they went around the neighborhood asking people if they knew anything about ‘strange occurrences’ or ‘odd goings on’. That sort of thing.”

“What reports, what are you talking about.” Allura’s tapping stops. Keith’s story continues.

“Neighbors didn’t really give Hunk or Pidge much, but I started reading them on my own, put stories together.” He finishes his cup in one _gulp_ , and concludes. “Which led me to your house. Which led me to you.”

Allura ignores his gesturing towards the teapot. He lifts his cup for more conspicuous gesticulation, but the woman got it the first four times he’s pointed. 

Keith’s not getting any more tea.

“What reports, Keith. What are you not telling me?”

“Oh.” The young man sets his cup down at last. “The missing persons reports, sorry. Yeah, they were all over the news _big time_ on our hunt to find your house. They were actually our biggest clues before we saw the pictures. Once we saw the house, the victims were pretty inconsequential.” He looks up. “Does that sound bad?”

Allura’s face is stony when Keith looks back down. “Speaking of noise,” Allura says “I think I’ve had a bit of enough of it today. I’ve enjoyed our tea, but I think now it’s time for you to go.”

“What? Really? Already, but… we haven’t even finished the pot yet.”

“A pity then, it truly is.”

And without warning she vanishes again. Allura, the pots, teacups and saucers all evaporate right before Keith’s eyes. He guesses he can take that as a dismissal. _Even if she didn’t say goodbye_. He guesses he shouldn’t take it personally?

Was it something he said?

Keith mounts his bike, riding home not in a _daze_ this time, but confused for sure.

What’s got him even more confused is the lonely emptiness that greets him when he gets home. There’s no humming Hunk working on dinner. There’s no tinkering Pidge loitering in his living room. There’s no chatting Lance in front of his TV. 

And he was just getting used to their ambiance, too.

Pidge, Lance, and Hunk aren't there when he opens the door to his apartment… but Shiro is. _What’s Shiro doing here?_

Apparently he’s sitting at Keith’s kitchen table and sifting through his mail. Keith closes the door slowly, takes off his riding gear and approaches Shiro who nods without looking up.

Not that Keith doesn’t appreciate his brother and everything. But seriously. What is Shiro actually doing here? If Shiro answers _just checking if you’ve got anything interesting sent to you,_ he just might have a conniption. 

“What’s up, Shiro?”

He holds up Keith’s mail in response. “Oh, nothing much. Just checking to see if-“

“Oh my God, cut the crap. Please. What are you doing here?” Keith stills in contemplation. “Did the trio send you here? Or was it just Lance? Oh, no. I know what’s going on, they sent you here so you could do some reconnaissance for things I learned about the ghost. Well not to worry. I learned absolutely nothing today. Aside from the fact that she can steal fine china and brew hot tea.”

Shiro laughs softly. “No, no. They didn’t send me, I’m not here for anything like that.” Keith isn’t buying it. “Okay, maybe something like that.”

It usually takes way longer for Shiro to give in, but he can’t deny his own curiosity with the whole ghost situation. His defeat is pretty weak when he says, 

“Yeah. Definitely that. Listen, I’m not going to pester you about it, alright? If you want to tell me anything about this ghost, great. If not, also great. I’m not going to say I don’t have questions of my own, but I’ll try not to badger you. Speaking of which, I was asked especially by Lance and Pidge to apologize on their behalf. They are ‘most humbled by their blunders of evasive inquisition’. Lance’s words. Why they couldn’t come here and say it themselves is beyond me, but here I am.”

“They already apologized to me, though. I thought we resolved that,” Keith looks around confusedly when he plops at the table across from his brother. “That’s weird.”

“I don’t know.” Shiro shrugs. “I don’t know. They told me they were super sorry for bothering you with everything they wanted you to do at the house. They also decided it would be smart to give you some ‘space’, thus sending me.”

The two spend the next minute simply nodding to each other. Keith loses himself a bit with rubbing his tongue in his mouth, still tasting the lady grey Allura served. 

“I see.” offers Keith, when he comes back to himself.

“Mmhmm.” Shiro hums. He gives it another gentle moment before he asks, “So… Do you want to tell me about the ghost?”

“Shiro…” the weary hunter groans.

“C’mon. You have to at least tell me what she looks like. It’s Allura, right?”

“Her name is Allura, yeah.”

“And?” his brother prods.

“And what? There’s not much else to say. Uh, let’s see. She’s got white hair. It’s really long. Her mother died when she was really young, then she got bound to the house by her dad.”

“See, that’s good!” Shiro encourages. “Anything else?”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t really tell what she wants from me. She served tea today and said she appreciated my company, but then went on this tangent on ‘living souls’. Which I am. Last time I checked, I’m still living.”

“Yes, Keith. You are very much living.”

He shrugs emphatically. “But then she got mad. I made her mad. I told her about the missing reports Hunk and Pidge found, then she kicked me out of her house.” Fretting the worst, he sucks on his lower lip, running his thumb over the pads of his fore and middle finger. “She doesn’t hate me. Does she?”

“Why would she hate you?” Shiro reasons.

"Cause I… made her mad. I brought up those reports, and her face just darkened and darkened. She said she wanted her silence, so I don’t really think my going to the house every week is giving her a lot of that.” The nervous boy stops rubbing his fingers. “I feel like every time I go to speak with her, I do something wrong.”

Shiro was having none of that, now. “You want to know what I think?”

“Yeah, sure.” Keith says carelessly.

“I think that this whole thing you and Allura have is just a hot mess of misunderstandings. What you need to do is go back, ask her _kindly_ why those reports pissed her off so much, and keep reassuring her you mean her no harm. Once you get that all out of the way, you can ask her if she genuinely is disturbed by your visiting. If so, that’s a simple solution: don’t go back. I trust you can take it from there. Easy enough, right?”

When his brother words it like _that_ it seems so easy, indeed. The execution is simple enough. His consequences are few, (that he knows of). It gives him the courage to agree once more to a house call.

“Easy enough.”

 

—

 

Keith feels like he’s experiencing deja vu. He looks up at Allura’s sad, sorry dilapidating house. It’s actually kind of growing on him, and he doesn’t know what to do about the feeling.

He doesn’t dwell anymore on it and hastily slinks through the door.

And almost falls flat on his face.

Is it just him, or is the ghost’s house a _lot_ darker than it was last Saturday? Like. A lot. Keith hardly needed to think twice when he skipped up the stairs then, but now. Now he can feel the darkness around him, harsh as Allura’s screams. The farther he walks into the house, the more the black descends on him. 

He can’t help but wonder what he’s really feeling. _Is it only just an absence of light, or is that Allura’s soul itself?_

With his arms spread wide, he stumbles and feels his way into the foyer, past the main hallway, and up the stairs. Keith totally could have brought out his flashlight, but _why_? He’s already at the loft. (Not to mention he left it at home cause he didn’t think he’d need it, but.)

In consideration of Shiro’s words, Keith waits a good ten seconds after knocking on the loft door before walking in. He hears a faint rustling of glass, and a not so faint intake of shuddering breath. 

That sounds not good.

Trepidatiously he creaks open the door, whispering “Allura?”

“Keith!” she gasps. Looking down at her, a few things are different in ways Keith doesn’t like. For one, the woman’s eyes are heavier than he’s ever seen them. “I didn’t expect you so soon,” she irately wipes at her cheeks. 

The window glass looks like it’s been cleaned, in another change. Not exactly swept, but tidied, for sure. 

The shrouding dark was certainly new as well.

No side tables with tea await him when he looks around, just Allura sitting by her lonesome in a piteous heap in her usual spot on the floor. It’s nice for Keith to know he can count on some consistency in his life. 

He really should do something to help with the sniffling, though.

Timidly he tries again,“Allura?” 

As though her sniveling and wallowing were the complete norm, she breathes in and looks Keith right in the eye. She stands, chest out and posture regal to nod at Keith. He nods back to her. It’s all totally normal and Keith doesn’t know any awkwardness that may or not be occurring on account of her crying. Because it’s not happening. Because everything is normal.

“Keith. I’ve been expecting you.”

“Oh. Uh. Thank you, Allura.” 

Her eyebrow twitch is complicated, saying things in a language Keith can’t read. Thankfully she says words with her _mouth_ that he can understand.

“My haggard state must not be the state at which you expected to find me. For my disarray I apologize, but I plan not to make many more apologies through the night. I trust you have some questions?”

He doesn’t really think he understood her words much more than her enigmatic expression.

“Kind of? I guess?”

“Kind of, you guess.” Her face mellows. “Would you like to ask them now?”

Frazzled, Keith’s eyes sweep to his left. “Sure, why not.”

Allura hums.

Crooking her finger, she guides him to the edge of the bay window. (He willingly follows, but he doesn’t think he could have resisted even if he tried.) The look she gives him as he sits is appraising. Very mild. Keith kind of likes it, but doesn’t know what what do with that look, either. All her looks are too complicated! He wants to figure them out.

Frankly, he’s felt out of his depths from the first step he took in the house today. With each second passing, he knows he’s going in over his head.

He wants to be _overwhelmed._

Before all that, he should probably ask what’s been on his mind, first.

“Were you crying just now? Before I got here?”

She barks a clipped laugh in his face. “A preposterous notion. For what reason have I to cry?” Allura holds up a finger. “Exactly. You can't think of any, because there aren't any, and I wasn’t crying.” She smiles, but it’s smothering and fake. “Any other questions?”

If she asked that to Last Week Keith, he would've taken the bait and readily changed topics. But this is This Week Keith, the one who had a talk with Shiro. This Week Keith remembers from his conversation that he should remind Allura he means no harm. 

This Week Keith can do that.

Or. Try to, at least.

“You know Allura,” he moves to rest a hand on her shoulder before he recalls her plasmic  existence. He lays his hand in front of hers instead, letting her do what she will with it. “If you were crying, for whatever reason at all- not that I’m saying you were or anything, but just in the off chance you were- you can tell me. Like you said, I’m here to listen. I’m not a good talker by any stretch, at all. For real. I’m the last person I would think of to go to for advice, but. I can still listen. That I can do. If you want.”

Keith swears he can see the ghost’s glowing eyes begin to tear up, but she averts them too quickly for him to tell. He can see the corner of her mouth raising, though. _Now_ that _he can work with._

“That’s very kind of you to offer, Keith. Should I find myself needing a listening parter, I promise you’re the first person I’ll think of. As a matter of fact you’re the _only_ person I’ll think of. I think that makes you special. Granted, it makes me very pathetic but I don’t necessarily have dozens of people beating down my door to ‘listen'. Quite the opposite, really.”

“Well not to worry,” Keith assuages. “I could never beat down your door. I always knock.”

Unbidden, Allura starts _cackling_ beside Keith. Her laughter is deep, full-bellied, from the diaphragm. They run laps around each other in the loft. It comes so suddenly, she laughs so passionately she has to hold her stomach and the widow-ledge to keep herself upright. 

“Yes! Yes you- you _do_!” she sends herself in another fit of laughter.

Hesitantly Keith holds his hands out to help Allura up. She takes them gratefully, but can’t seem to achieve the desired affect. Her laughing is just too strong.

After a few more fruitless (and half-hearted) attempts, Allura finally calms her laughter into giggles. Her giggles turn to a smile. The smile remains a permanent fixture on her face in the dawning silence while Keith guides her shoulders to their original position.

The woman is upright, now. She could have done it without his help for all she cares, too. But even still, Keith can’t help but linger his hands on her arms. Beneath his palms he can feel her faint warmth. _Are her hands this warm too,_ he wonders. 

He has to make a conscientious decision not to run his own hands down to find out. Or to squeeze his hands on her arms any tighter than they already are.

It’s just that… Allura has never felt this _alive_ before.

He should probably add that to the list of questions to ask Allura. All these mysteries just keep piling up!

“That was sweet Keith,” she says with that dizzying smile. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you, not at all. That was just…” she sighs. “You’ve been very good to me since you've been coming to the house, and that's not something I can say for a lot of people. I will be honest, I was having a bit of a rough time before you came today. It gets hard for me to remember things to smile about. Thank you for giving me a reason.”

“It, uh. It’s my pleasure.” Keith says as genuinely as he can. (Or, as unflustered.) He means it with every inch of his being, so he hopes Allura can tell.

She’s is still smiling, which is good. the atmosphere is still calm. Words are coming easy. Now, Keith thinks, would be a good time to finally get around to asking his questions. 

He tries to pace himself, working his way up to the one he really wants to ask. He opens by asking the most obvious and oldest question.

“So, I did have something I wanted to ask.”

“Yes, Keith? What is it?” she says sweetly.

“Why… why is the house so rotted? I know it’s abandoned and everything, but. The state of this house is not normal.”

“Ah.” Allura’s sweetness fades. “Nobody can help but notice the withering of my father’s house. Don’t worry, you’re not the first one to ask. You may be the first one I’ve ever answered honestly to, but that’s besides the point.” Her smile weakens too, but Keith can tell she’s stubborn in keeping it on her face. “Basically, I poisoned the house.”

“‘Poisoned’? How do you mean?”

“My soul.” She runs her hand over her chest, up to her neck. “I was so burdened, I was so angry, I was so _sad_ , and the house manifested it. The first night when my fathered died and I realized I was chained here, I busted all the windows in this room. Before the week was over I shattered all the windows in the house.”

“Oh. Damn.”

She huffs a little, not unkindly. “You’re telling me.” Then elaborates, “I haven’t really been here all that long, you know. It’s been… Well it’s been a few years, but my sorrow really hasn’t helped the maintenance of the house. As I cried, I could feel the vines growing and twisting. The sadder I got, the more they rotted. My anger caused the wood to splinter and the floors to soil. The house gets darker with my loneliness. The house was never, _never_ this dark when my family was alive. If only father could see it now.”

“I’m sorry, Allura. I’m sorry, I just can’t. I can’t- the _house_ manifested your _emotions_?”

Before Keith can breach over to hysterics, Allura says “Not my emotions, per se. But definitely my soul. Since the house and I are so inexplicably connected, I would think it obvious that the state of the house would reflect the state of my being.”

A few things just made complete since to Keith all of a sudden.

“Is that why the house seemed brighter last week? I felt like I could actually see where I was walking. That was you, wasn’t it? What changed?”

Allura’s sudden blush makes not-since to him. Her face is timid, voice soft in confession: “I did.”

“What was that?” Keith leans toward her.

“I changed.” 

She can neither lean away, nor will away her red cheeks. Keith can’t figure for himself what she could be so embarrassed about. It’s not going to stop him from trying, though. He asks further,

“What changed about you, Allura?”

Ooh. That is a good question indeed. She can barely stand to look at him when she answers, “I guess I was happy.”

“Ah.”

Since when had they leaned in so close? _Since when had they started whispering?_ Keith doesn’t want to break the spell, so he keeps speaking low. “What made you so happy?”

His breath brushes across Allura’s cheek, up to her ear. She fights a flustered shudder, a hand to Keith’s chest, words too honest for their own good. 

She’ll allow herself to say “I finally have someone to listen. I think I’m getting peace back,” and say nothing more.

“Glad to hear it.”

But the woman thinks that maybe this silence is too delicate for even her to handle, so she prompts Keith, “was that all you wanted to ask? Or was there more?”

(She’s hoping there’s a _lot_ more, but she’d rather be re-cursed than tell Keith what she wants more _of_.)

“There was more, actually.” He clears his throat. “I know you don’t really like being asked- which I can get- but I’m still wondering… Exactly how long have you been chained to the house.” Allura’s face shifts. Kieth immediately back-tracks. “And if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Or if you don’t remember. It’s just my friends have been wondering about it, my brother has been wondering about it, _I’ve been wondering about it-_ “

“It’s been almost ten years.”

Keith’s eyes shoot wide open. “ _Ten years?_ For real? And you haven’t… there’s no… You’re still stuck here? How long are you supposed to be here, how long did your father say? Will you never be able to move on, I can’t even imagine.”

She remembers how helpful his hand was on her shoulder when he was consoling her, so Allura returns the action in kind. “I won’t say that it’s okay, but the time moves both quickly and slowly. It hasn’t felt like ten years, not really. I spend so much of my time sleeping. The only time I’m waken up is when someone wants to summon me or… or when you come to visit.”

 _Aha!_ Now it’s _Keith’s_ turn to blush. Allura feels immense victory as he tries to pull himself together.

“I guess I can now understand how in ten years of grieving, the house would fall apart so much. You must have been lonely for a long time. _Ten years_ , Allura.”

“Yes Keith, I’m quite aware.” She runs her chilled fingers through his hair, resting on the back of his neck. Her hand radiates like effervescent light, sending shocks up and down Keith’s spine. (He kinda wants to get used to it.) “Still, it could be worse. The house could be completely corrupted, it could’ve been taken over by a demon, I could be a poltergeist. If we’re being fair to the possibilities, I think this is the best one I could have chosen.”

“Yeah, no kidding” the boy snorts.

He does have one more question, but it’s getting progressively more difficult to ask. Especially with her cold fingers fiddling with his long hair. Especially with her blue eyes, compelling and striking looking right into his. Particularly her glowing hair that curls and tumbles over her shoulders, almost into his lap. He can scarcely seem to think about her without abandoning his damn train of thought.

Before he can get any more lost at sea, This Week’s Keith spits out his question without looking back. 

“Do I disturb your silence?”

His only regret is that it makes Allura stop stroking his hair. 

“‘Disturbing my silence’. I honestly can’t tell if that was an attempt at humor or not.”

Keith takes her hand from his neck, settling it back to her side (where it probably should belong.) “No, no I’m not trying to be funny. I talked with Shiro, my brother last week about me coming here and talking with you and everything. He said I should ask if you’re genuinely disturbed by my presence. I think those were his exact words. So. Here I am. Asking you that.”

“Oh, Keith. You don’t disturb my presence.” She shakes her head good-naturedly. “If you did that, don’t you think there would be a return of the screaming? _No matter how childish it was_?” she finishes under her breath.

“Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right.”

Her melting smile could’ve liquified Keith’s core inside out. “Speaking of childish things, I guess it would be fair to tell you why you found my crying today.”

Keith holds up his hands. “No, no! I don’t- it’s not. You really don’t have to, it’s okay.”

“Really, it’s fine.” She combs her hair behind her ear. “I might as well tell you.” She twirls the ends. “It would only be fair to the way I keep snapping at you or leaving so quickly.”

“Allura, you-“

“I want to tell you.” Her words are kind but firm. He finally lets her proceed. “I was crying for a few reasons. The first of which being one of the scariest for me; I thought you wouldn’t return. I couldn’t bare the thought of having to go back to my lonely silence. No thank you. I was also scared you already read through the missing persons reports and started putting things together. I don’t see you thinking ill of me yet, so I’m assuming you haven’t. I can’t tell you about those reports, not at this time- it’s still too early- but soon. Soon I hope to tell you. 

“Then on top of that, a couple of bothersome kids came over and were… bothering me, so I rather a bit stressed. As you saw. All those things came together and resulted in my irritability towards you, which you did not deserve. You keep bearing the brunt of my aggression and for that I deeply apologize.”

How does Keith even respond to that? Does he say ‘it’s alright’? Does he laugh, lower his head and move on? Does he try to _comfort_ her? He’s always been bad with emotions with living people, but he can’t imagine the wrath he could incur of a powerful ghost. Amidst all those things, he settles on:

“I don’t think you have anyone to apologize to, Allura.”

When he says that, her smile is a lot of things at once. He can see conspicuous sadness, gentle skepticism and something very akin to affection. It isn’t quite as beautiful as her open laughter but he’ll take it.

In the first time of all his visits, Keith gets up to leave first. “I actually have to get home to make dinner,” (if Hunk or Lance hasn’t made it already,) “but thank you for letting me ask you those questions. I… I’m trying to be someone that you can trust.” He thinks Shiro would be proud of that little tidbit.

“I do trust you, Keith. Quite a bit. Not completely, but perhaps more than you might think. Thank _you_ for listening. Now get home, and I look forward to seeing you next week.” She lays her hand on top of his a final time, then fades into the colors of the widow and walls. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever really get used to Allura’s touch or her method of departing,  but he _can_ get used to these kinds of conversations. Especially with the woman herself at the helm.

 

—

 

Not only does Keith find Shiro at his kitchen table waiting for him when he gets home, he also finds Hunk, Pidge and Lance congregating around with expectant eyes. 

Well. If Allura can get peace now at Keith’s expense, then he doesn’t mind a busy weekend every now and again.

“Hey dude. What’s with the smile?” Lance points at him before he can even take off his gloves. 

Keith looks down to his lips, rubs at his chin and tilts his head. “What smile?”

Hunk bounds behinds Lance, gasping “bro, you’re so right. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make that expression. Like, ever. In your life. You feeling alright?”

He can feel himself _bristling_ as he gruffly waves their hands out of his face. “I feel fine. I’m not making any expression. Leave me alone.”

But even Shiro falls prey to the goading. “Keith. You’re smiling.” _His own brother._ “It’s a nice look for you, makes you more approachable.”

“Did something good happen at the house, today?” Lance says in an disconcerting, exuberant, and disconcertingly exuberant tone.

“Who says I even went to the haunted house at all, today? Hm? I could’ve been out…” Quick! A lousy excuse! “Getting a cup of coffee.”

That was lame and precisely everyone in his apartment knows it. Only Pidge has the heart to point it out, and she does mercilessly.

“You hate coffee and you have never made a lamer excuse. Try again.”

“Something _great_ must’ve happened at the house,” Lance supplies.

Shiro warns, “Lance.”

“Nothing happened at the house today!” Keith snaps. “Why do you all want to know!”

“Now see, we can’t fully believe that when something obviously _did_ happen cause you’re making this obvious shmoopy face.” Lance coos at him. “We want to know cause we care, dude.”

“Well you shouldn’t!” He practically throws off his backpack. “As a matter of fact, why are you even here? All of you need to go. Out. Hunk, thanks for dinner but now it's time to leave.”

He shoves the trio out his front door with frantic hands. _We’ll be back!_ he hears Lance call from down the hallway. When he turns back around, he really shouldn’t have been half as surprised as he was.

Silently and sneakily, Shiro remained seated in his chair at the kitchen table.  Keith isn’t really fond of the dark snickering he’s got going on. He knows he doesn’t have a choice whether to like it or not, so he sulks in retaliation. His dramatic _kerplonk_ into his seat is about as amusing as Allura’s banshee screeching. 

“So.” Shiro cuts right to it. “Something you wanna tell me?”

“No, not really” he grumbles. 

“Actually, yes really. I know there is. You can either make this easier or harder for yourself. Totally up to you. What’ll it be?”

 _If it were totally up to me_ , Keith thinks bitterly, _we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all._

“I… I went to the house today.”

“Yes, we’ve agreed on that much. Then you went to see Allura, you guys had a nice chat, I bet.”

“You could say we did,” Keith admits.

“I’m saying you did very much. And you know how much I don’t like these games, Keith.”

“Wait. Why are you even asking in the first place? Why are you being so pushy? I don’t see how this has anything to do with you at all, no offense.” Keith taps his fingers on the tabletop.

His brother scoffs, “no offense taken. But what, a guy can’t be curious about his baby bro, now? What is this world coming to.”

Tapping the table quicker, he rolls his eyes and retorts. “I thought you were the one who said ‘everything in moderation’. Curiosity killed the cat and all that.”

“Easy way or hard way, Keith. Easy way or hard.” Shiro taps at his wrist. 

“Okay, okay. What do you want me to tell you, where should I start?”

“Anything different about your conversation with the ghost, today? Anything special?” he suggests.

 _Anything special?_ _He could say that._ “Uh, let’s see.” He doesn’t want to throw all his cards in right away, though. “She told me more about her dad. More about the house. Oh! She said she’s been there for ten years.”

“Ten years already?” Shiro raises his brows.

“I know, I know that’s what _I_ said. She told me that, and also… her soul is like, connected to the house? I’m not entirely clear about that whole thing but basically when her dad bound her to the house, it caused her soul to affect its state. That’s why it’s so rotted and moldy; her sadness she said ‘poisoned’ it all.”

“Oh wow. That sounds awful.”

“It is.” Keith stops tapping his fingers, but starts rubbing his wrists instead. “It is. It’s even worse when you see the house up close. Every thing is so _dead_ , Shiro. The only things that are really in tact are the stairs leading up to the loft and the loft itself.”

“Her mood affects the house. Is that what you’re telling me?” Shiro wonders aloud.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Apparently when she first realized she was stuck to the house, she yelled so hard she shattered the loft’s windows. All of them. It didn’t take long for her to break the rest of the windows, either.”

“Good grief,” Shiro exhales heavily. “How loud must she have been shouting?”

“I’ve been trying not to think about it. I can’t stand to see her that upset.” Keith looks off, away, far into his own head and Shiro has to real him back before he goes too deep.

“I see. So, if her mood affects the house, do different emotions do different things?”

“Yeah. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure it was her anger that short-circuited the house. Anyway, her sadness killed the garden, her anger split the wood and-“ Keith suddenly cuts himself off.

“And?” his brother repeats.

“Her happiness does stuff, too.”

Keith doesn’t blush but Shiro can tell it’s a near thing. For now, he won’t be so cruel as to provoke it. For now. Guilelessly he inquires, 

“What kind of stuff? Does it restore the garden, the house, give the house electricity again?”

“Ha ha,” Kieth says stiffly. “No, no it doesn’t do anything like that.” His voice steadily lowers, and Shiro’s victory only grows.

“Then what?”

“She uh. Last week when we had tea, the house seemed brighter. I asked Allura about it, and she said it was because she was happy.”

 _Oh did she, now?_ Shiro loves how he can live vicariously through his baby bro. “Then that’s good, right?”

“I could actually see in front of my frickin nose, so _that_ was nice.” Keith rotates his hand in front of himself. “It was really nice.”

“So I heard,” Shiro smirks.

“She laughed today,” he says abruptly. “It isn’t like she hasn’t laughed before, but today… She’s never laughed this hard. I know I haven’t known her for very long, but I felt like I won something important. What that is I don’t know, but. Today was different.”

Bless Shiro for his professionalism. Poor Keith doesn’t even realize the dopey smile he’s got on. His brother thinks it might be his most charming look. He really could stand to wear it more, but would never speak a word of it lest he accidentally gets rid of its existence entirely. 

Keith continues by the reassurance of Shiro’s even face.

“It’s like…” he fights for his words. “I’ve never seen her alive before.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Everything about her, Shiro!” he clutches his hands in his hair. “Her eyes were glowing. I mean, they always do that but not like _this_. I could feel her all around me”. Wait. “I could feel this aura- I don’t know if it was her soul or something else- but I felt it. It felt warmer than any other time I’ve been. She wouldn’t stop _touching me_!”

Shiro nearly chokes on his own spit. “ _Oh_?”

“She like, kept stroking at my hair!” Keith demonstrates on himself. “Or putting her hand on mine! Or grabbing my wrist!” His voice raises in histrionic disbelief. “ _It was very distracting_ , Shiro!”

“I am... very sorry for you.”

“Yeah,” Keith regulates his breaths. “Yeah. Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to blow up at you I just. Yeah. And she’s expecting me next week, too. I would just feel bad if I stood her up. I still don’t…”

His voice dies. Shiro waits a few moments for him to pick it up again, but nothing happens. Nothing comes out. Carefully he watches his brother’s face, and at first, it’s very blank. Not terribly out of the ordinary. Then the more he watches, the more his phase morphs into something painful and dejected.

“Keith?”

He watches as his little brother stops pulling at his hair, exhaling heavy. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn the deep and burdened one was him and not Allura.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” He says at last. His voice is _pathetic_ and makes Shiro’s heart break minutely.

“How much of what?”

Keith shakes his head. “She’s so beautiful, Shiro. I can’t ever look away from her eyes, no matter how much I want to. Every time she holds my hand it feels like light. Like… cold sunlight. She doesn’t pass through me or anything, but I feel like the way she is is even worse. I can feel an echo of sensation, but it isn't enough.”

Shiro would be embarrassed for his brother's sake, but he knows just how much he means those words.

“I wish I could feel her for real, you know?” He bows his head. “If she were alive, would her hands still be cold then? Would they be warmer? Would her eyes still glow, would her hair still shine? It kills me, Shiro. I _want_ to know and I never… can. It will never be that easy. _Why is it never this easy for me?_

“I’ve been fighting for _so long_! I can’t keep losing, I don’t want to keep _wanting_. I’m so tired. You’ve been here for me and I’ll always be grateful to you for that, but. I think sometimes it’s not enough. I’m done with wanting things that are _just out of reach._ ”

“Keith, please.”

“No, Shiro.” he interrupts. “I’m not having this conversation again. We’re not talking about you right now, we’re talking about Allura. We’re talking about Allura and how she literally infuriates me. I’m starting to notice something about myself…”

“Oh yeah, like what?”

“Like- nope, never mind. I just said I’m not bringing you into this. So. That’s that.”

Ah. That’s it, then, indeed. Shiro stands from his chair, pulls his jacket from the back and walks over to where Keith stays seated. He lands a hearty clap to his shoulder and bids,

“Well. It sounds like you two have a lot to talk about.”

He slinks away, and slips out Keith’s door without another word. To his receding back Keith sighs. 

“I’m going to need it.”

 

—

 

Now that Keith knows about Allura’s synergy with the house, he can’t help but notice little details he hasn’t before. Tiny differences from this week and last that he _knows_ he couldn’t have cared less about before. 

The thorns don’t seem as prickly as they did, now. When he walks up the stairs, the wood doesn’t groan and bend as bad as it has, now. The door is fully attached to the rusted hinges now. 

Comparatively, the house is _blinding_ when he walks up the stairs to meet Allura. He pushes open the loft door, and-

She isn’t here! Again!

He waits a few seconds to see if she’ll materialize, but he’s quickly thinking that’s not going to happen.

“Allura?” he calls out. From somewhere on the first floor he hears her respond, “down here, Keith!”

He supposes he’s going down there. 

Sauntering back downstairs, he clips his flashlight (that he doesn’t even need; just his luck,) back to his belt loop and follows the sound of the ghost’s voice. They call back and forth to each other, until he’s lead to the heart of the house.

The kitchen.

She stands puissantly with her hands folded, smiling to Keith warm like the sun across a tide. With a waving arm she beckons him to the kitchen island. He leans his arm over the edge, taking in his new surroundings. The granite looks recently polished, the appliances as cleaned as they can, and in front of the fridge Allura positively _shines_.

“H-hey, what’s uh,” he gestures to the kitchen at large. “What’s up with the new meeting place?”

The woman bends over the counter so her forearms and stomach all rest on it. She idles and kicks her feet saying, “I’ve been being a bad host! I hope you can forgive me. You’ve already been here several times, but I’ve never given you a tour of the house. What do you say?” _Care to experience a little common decency from me,_ she almost doesn’t say.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.” He nods agreeably. “Please lead the way.”

“Then follow me!”

Keith falls into step with her, one pace behind. In each room they visit, Allura gives a little history or memory she favors. She’d recall important pieces of furniture, art or events that took place, and Keith can feel the air warming around him.

Allura spends quite a bit of time in the kitchen itself, reminiscing about things she’s baked or projects she’s made with her father right by her side. She gets a wistful look, but Keith lets her have all the time she needs. She looks like she’s needed this for a while.

She leads them out to the living room, where memories of big family gatherings and peals of laughter make Allura’s eyes water. She swiftly moves on. 

They stop to the front of her bedroom door. Keith gets inordinately, irrevocably, inappropriately nervous. She leads them inside.

He clenches and opens his fist just to fight his nerves.

Looking around, she points out a few different things, never staying to one story very long. She tells him of sleepovers with friends, secrets that she can finally allow herself to divulge. Stories of old crushes make their way in there too, and he’s not sure why and she’s not sure _how_.

“Anyway!” she pronounces loudly. “There’s still the rest of the house to get to, so please keep following.”

And he does.

Gladly.

They cross the threshold of her room and he lets himself exhale. When he looks up, he almost bumps into Allura’s back. Together, they stand looking up at a closed, white door. They stand still, breath each other’s air. The moment feels intimate, but not between himself and Allura. He thinks it belongs to her and whoever used to be behind that door. He gives himself one guess as to who that person might be.

“This was my parents’ room.”

Keith can feel the air change second by second. It doesn’t become warmer or cooler, exactly. Maybe less humid. A little more crisp. A little more sharp. It prickles the back of his neck and arms, but he keeps his eyes fixed. 

(Almost as much as he can feel the air, Keith can feel Allura’s hand hovering and radiating against his. Would now be a good time to hold it? Would that be okay?)

She saves him from his needless worrying, and confidently grasps his hand in hers. Blinking back her tears, swallowing her unsteadiness, she begins to explain.

“This was their room. Before they died. When I was a child I would sleep in the middle of my mother and father, and they would both sing me lullabies if I was having a nightmare. When I got older, my mother would sit me down at the foot of the bed and braid my hair for me. I quickly became too old to come here regularly, save for chores or cleaning, but the memories remained. Remain. I can still hear her voice, saying ‘Allura, sweatheart’ and kissing me goodnight. I can hear my father rushing around to find his tie,” Allura laughs wetly. “And my mother would tie it for him. Or help button his shirt. They were everything I wanted to be when I grew up, you know?”

“That sounds like a beautiful life, Allura.” 

She lets not one iota of pressure off Keith’s hand. Actually, she intertwines her fingers with his, seeming very counterproductive if she expects him to listen at all. Her familiarity and closeness are too antithetic of the mood for Keith. Still, he can listen to the somberness of her voice and the coolness of her hand. They bring him back to the hope in her eyes, and he asks the misplaced shadows not to lose him too much.

“It _was_ beautiful. But now they’re gone.” Her voice hardens. “And I tell you all this not because this is fun for me, but because there’s something I think you should know. There’s quite a few things you should know, actually.” She tugs his arm, leading them up into the loft. “You may want to sit down for this,” gesturing to the bay window.

She takes a few moments to gather her thoughts. Then another. She begins to pace. She rings her hands. The moment is stretching and Keith doesn’t really know what to do. 

“Allura? What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

The woman stops pacing but continues to rub her hands. Apprehensively she draws out, “last week. Do you remember when you told me you’d be available to listen?”

Keith nods immediately. “Yeah, of course I remember.”

“Is that… is that offer still standing?”

He stands up, crossing over to her. He clasps his hands over hers to still them, looking down to her slender wrists. “Of course it is. Why, what’s up?”

“It’s… It’s a lot of things. It’s about my father. It’s about me. It’s about how I became a ghost, why you saw all those reports, why I’m still chained here. Why I can’t leave. A lot of things.”

This story is going to be a doozy, he already knows it. He takes her sound advice to sit at the bay widow, and she finally joins him. 

From the smooth, steady narration of her voice, Keith would never be able to tell Allura hadn’t told this story before. She speaks with clarity, conciseness, precision. (Her voice reminds him of a downpour on a sleek tin roof.)

_He’s thankful he can be caught in her storm._

“Before my father died, he told me about what was to happen. We discussed my staying with the house long before he passed. When he told me all of what I needed to do, it came as no surprise to me. Anything that _did_ surprise me, I simply hadn't take into account for. I didn’t take into account the silence, my loneliness. My loss of material possessions. I was warned of all these things beforehand, but I didn’t grasp their weight until it finally happened.” 

She takes a breath to test his resolve. Will Keith respond? 

He sits patiently beside her, waiting for the next movement of her story. He asks not a single question in fear of interruption. Looks like he really is the _listening_ partner. Satisfied with his attentiveness, Allura continues.

“I… I had to stay at the house to protect it from the Galra.”

Keith clumsily breaks his no-speaking vow, exclaiming “the _Galra_? Who the hell are the Galra?”

“A very good question, mister Keith. Allow me to explain.” And explain she _does_. “Simply put, the Galra are demons who sought to possess this place once my father died. The Galra are _not_ good. They thrive on haunting and spooking willing and unwilling souls alike. When my family first moved here, this place was _swarming_ with them. They’re dangerous creatures who make innocent people do dangerous things. They ah- they’re the ones who took my mother too soon.”

“I’m so sorry, Allura.”

“So was my father. He was so sorry, he devoted the rest of his life in vanquishing as many as he could so not another soul would be perverted by their power again. He avenged my mother's spirit as best as he could, but. Still. He was only but one human, so how much could he really do by himself? Quite a lot if you ask me, but no effort could be enough to defeat all the Galra. There’s just too many, and they're all too powerful. My father was afraid their power would overwhelm this house and it would be taken over. Oh Keith, he feared the worst.

“He thought the Galra's power would be so influential it would not only poison this house, but go on to spread throughout the neighborhood, the city, the _state_. You could say his fears passed down to me, but I can’t be any more fierce about protecting innocent mortals from those nasty things. I readily swore to my father I would stay in his stead. That’s the promise I made to him ten years ago, and that’s what I'm still doing today.”

Keith has never even _heard_ of anything like the “Galra”. It sounds legit, though. Who is he to doubt the knowledge of a sentient, mostly-tangible ghost who’s seen these creeps with her own two eyes? He sure isn't.

“Does that mean you’re here until you defeat all these… galra? How long would that even take?” he accidentally voices.

“It’s already done."

“What’s already done."

“Defeating the Galra. There’s no way I've defeated them _all_ , not even close, but I’ve gotten all the ones haunting around this area. It wasn’t quick or easy work, but I’ve gotten them.”

Keith’s eyes widen with shocked disbelieve. More on the shock side than anything. “You’ve already gotten all the Galra?”

“Well no not _all_ the Galra-“

“Still! Allura, that’s _amazing_.”

Her blush is rosy and fascinating. (Keith thinks he can even see a dim pink glow emanating from around her, too.)

“It's hardly amazing, Keith. I did what I had to do. Every time I thought of another person being taken over by the Galra, I thought of my mother. I thought of my father’s face as he died avenging her. Defending me. If another Galra won, they won over someone _else’s_ mother. Someone else’s father. Someone else’s daughter or son, sister or brother. I couldn't let that happen. Not when I could do something about it.”

“If the Galra are defeated… then what are you still doing here?”

The ghost’s laugh is hollow, saying everything words couldn’t. “My own untethering process is quite gruesome. I’ve tried it before on several people, but-“

Keith tilts his head down to match her level. “But what? What do you mean ‘tried on’?”

“When I said gruesome, I meant gruesome. It’s a very intense process, both for myself and the other person. However, every other person has never been willing.”

“Willing?” The hunter’s voice sharpens like a knife’s edge. 

“I’m not very enthused to share the details with you. If you knew what it entailed, I don’t think you would be, either. I am loathe to explain because when I even think about it, I feel no better than the Galra themselves. If I could do it any other way, I obviously would. I would. I guess I got a little carried away recently…”

“I see.” Keith pats his lap a couple of times. “Sounds… intense.”

“Please don’t patronize me, Keith. I could really do without.”

He bobs his head noncommittally, staring at his feet. He knows there’s a lot of things that Allura’s not telling him, but has to save for later. He thinks this listening session is over for this time. 

“I know, Allura. I know. I think I have to go now, but I’ll be back next week. Same time. It really is amazing that you’ve already defeated all the Galra you possibly can. And if it’s in my power, I’m going to fight as hard as I can to get you untethered. You’ve done so much for others, only for the thanks to be spit back in your face. You deserve real rest now. You can have that much.”

 _Oh, Keith._ Allura thinks when he slips down from the loft. _If only you knew._

 

—

 

The ghost is the only thing Keith can talk about the rest of his week. “She must be so powerful to have defeated all those Galra,” he swears to Pidge. “The way she talked about her family… it made me want to fight for something like that,” he sighs at Hunk. “Now that I know how it works, it’s like I can feel every emotion going through her in the air. The house _is_ her soul,” he gapes to Lance.

He’s being ridiculous. Hunk, Lance, Pidge all know it. Shiro knows it. The birds know it, the dogs know it. Heck even his _mailman_ probably knows it. Even still, none of them quite have the heart to tell him so. They let him go on his rambles of Allura’s silent strength, quiet beauty and soothing voice.

Sometimes, Pidge will even encourage his rambling. _Um, hello. More blackmail material, guys!_

Keith eventually tells them about the Galra. He sees no need for prelude, so when Hunk has a slow moment in the kitchen and Lance and Pidge pipe down a bit, he proclaims to no one in particular,

“The Galra are demons.”

The whole room stills. Everyone notices but Keith, so he blunders on. 

“Allura’s been fighting them. She said she defeated them awhile ago, but they took her mom. Her dad died fighting against them, but now Allura took his place. That’s why she’s stuck at the house. That’s what she told me.”

Lance is the first to speak up. “The Galra? What are those?”

“I just told you, they’re demons.”

“Yeah, yeah but that doesn’t really tell us anything. What do they do, why are they bad.”

“Oh.” Keith thinks back to his and Allura’s conversation. “They possess people. They make good people do bad things. She didn’t really give me a lot to work with, but I don’t really think they’re that much different from your regular evil spirits. Evil Spirits. They’re corrupted, they corrupt other people.”

“Hold on, I’m looking them up now,” Pidge cuts in. She whips open her laptop from the floor, typing as quick as her fingers carried her. “Loadiing-“ she hums. “Ah. Here we go. Okay, so there isn’t much on these ‘Galra’ in the first place, but it basically says they’re _bah bah baaahh,_ purple apparitions.” She looks to Keith. Back to her laptop. “They come in possessed peoples’ dreams, turn them into nightmares and send their host’s bodies in violent fits of unexplained rage.”

Her glasses glint when she says, “being totally real with you right now, they sound like ghost furries.”

They all _sputter_ , Hunk exclaiming “Pidge! I thought we promised not to use that word ever again! Ever meaning _ever_. For as long as we both shall live.”

“Sorry dude” she says, not evidently sorry in the slightest.

“See, there you go.” Keith gestures at Pidge. “That’s what Allura has been fighting against.”

As Pidge skims more information about the elusive Galra, she concedes with grace. “That is actually pretty cool if she fought as many as she said she did. By _herself._ These things are nasty. I’m honestly surprised none of us have ever had a run-in with one before.”

“You could probably thank Allura for that.” Lance agrees. “I mean, like Pidge says. _If_ she’s been taking them out as much as she says she has.”

“I have no reason to doubt her.” Keith affirms.

 

Maybe not doubt, yes. But question? The sentiment is different. Keith has been doing a lot of questioning. The mystery of Allura’s house-tethering has been completely resolved, but how to get her untethered? Allura could not have tighter lips.

All Keith knows is that it’s gruesome, intense, and done on unwilling parties.

He doesn’t like the way those adjectives stack up.

Out of the blue, he recalls Allura never showing him outside during the house tour. He knows on the other side of the living room stands a sliding glass door. It leads out to a deck, a porch. _Something_. Why didn’t she even mention it when she was leading Keith around? She showed him her parents’ room, but not the outside.

It doesn’t sit right with Keith. 

Maybe it has something more to do with the Galra. Is that where they typically entered the house? That doesn’t really sound _all_ that logical but he won’t completely dismiss it yet. Maybe it just holds even more painful memories for Allura. Keith finds that even more doubtful.

No, there has to be something either on the deck or outside that she’s keeping from Keith. She’s deliberately hiding something.

 _Why doesn’t she want him to know how to unchain her to the house_? Doesn’t she want rest?

Keith bangs his fist on his desk before going to bed one night. _He still doesn’t know how the fricking news reports tie in!_

That, he thinks, is the most mysterious of all.

Somehow, he didn’t expect a ghost to be this shrouded in mystery. He really should have known better. (He voices some of his _questioning_ to Shiro, and he agrees. He really _should_ have known better.)

When he brings his unease to his brother, he doesn’t exactly find comfort, but finds something good in their conversations nonetheless.

“Remember, you still want to be someone she trusts,” he reiterates. “You’re not going to get much out of her if you demand. Demanding only gets you confrontation and anger. That is exactly everything you _don’t_ want. I know you have it in you, Keith. Keep being patient. Keep asking nicely. You saw how well it worked last time, right?”

He can’t argue with his older brother’s sound logic, so he nods weakly. “I can be the most patient, focused bastard you’ve ever seen.”

“I know you can do it, bud.” Shiro ruffles his hair. “Patience and focus also works in getting the digits, too. Be sure to remember that if nothing else.”

Keith shoves his brother’s hand away from his head, appalled. “Now you’re sounding like Lance. Get out of my house, I don’t know who you are but I want Shiro back.”

As he leaves Keith’s apartment, he laughs the whole way out.

_Allura wouldn't even have any digits to give!_

_…_ Would she?

 

—

 

Allura is waiting for him back in the loft when he returns. She sits at the bay widow, looking pensively out into her frayed lawn. Keith slides into the room, but she doesn’t turn or lift her head to face him.

(Yeah. There’s no getting this woman’s number even if she had one to give.)

She looks so tranquil, he doesn’t want to break this moment. But all things must come to an end, and the way he doesn’t feel lingering contention from last week gives him the courage to dig at his final mystery.

“Hey, Allura.”

She jerks her head up at his voice. Oh. She just didn’t hear him come in, then. “Keith. Lovely to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You as… you as well. Can I uh-“ he points to the window.

“Can you… oh! Yes, yes please. Come sit down.” The woman wastes no time getting comfortable. She places a gentle hand on Keith’s wrist, smiling her rainfall smile. “I wanted to thank you very much for listening to me last week. I know we do a lot of thanking and apologizing between us but I think that’s alright.”

“No, no it was. It was fine. Thank you for telling me all that stuff in the first place.”

The smile that Allura shifts to doesn’t seem quite so genuine. “I know you have other questions. But it was good of you to keep them until this time, there was already… so much last week.”

Ah, damn. Keith was found out too soon. “Who said I had more questions?”

“I did.” Right to the chase. “Besides- if you didn’t, why else would you be here?”

Keith considers that a moment. She slyly leans into his chest space and speaks low, “could it be perhaps you enjoy my company, too?” She gasps. “Do you _like_ me?”

He turns absolutely crimson, and Allura is absolutely overjoyed.

“Sure I like you, I admire you a lot.”

“Well thank you Keith. I like you, too.” Her undertones are probably important to take notice of, but the poor embarrassed boy doesn’t have enough presence of mind to parse them out. “In all seriousness now, what else about me did you want to know? Anything more about the Galra? I’ll _gladly_ tell you about the havoc they sowed. More about my father? I can tell you whatever you want to know.”

A very tempting offer it is. Keith almost accepts, but he figures he has a bit of Tragic Backstory to repay. He can do that much. _He can be the most polite and focused bastard she’s ever seen._

“If it’s alright with you, I think I want to tell you about my dad now.”

“Your father?” Allura tilts back a bit. “Don’t tell me; he’s a Galra, too?”

“That was… that was a joke, right.” 

She fervently reaffirms, “Yes! Yes, that was a joke. I don’t want to think of how I would feel if I knew you were related to the Galra in any way.”

“Neither do I,” he replies frankly. “But no, he’s not Galra. I’m not Galra. We’re all good. I just wanted to tell you that… I just wanted to say-“ what _is_ he trying to say, even? “I wanted you to know…” Well. If the words won’t come from his mouth, then he can push them from his heart, _force them from the pit of his stomach_. 

“You’re not alone. Um. That’s what I wanted to say. Want to say. I know what it feels like, not having your parents always around. So maybe in some way, I can understand the loneliness you felt being alone in this house. I didn’t really know either of my parents… at all. My mom left really quickly after I was born. My father was in the picture, but not enough to make himself very clear in it. Obviously, I don’t have those happy family memories like you do. Still, I have people in my life who I would like to call family. 

“Shiro, my brother, he’s the closest to me. He says I don’t… open up enough? That I understand, empirically. I don’t open up to a lot of people, which I’m trying to change. I don’t want to keep things a secret, I just can never seem to find the time to share. I’m- I’m really fumbling with my words right now so I hope even some of what I’m saying makes since, but. I thought it would be fair of me to tell you about myself since you shared so much about you.”

“Oh, Keith.” Allura gathers him in his arms. He tenses, keeping his arms trapped at his sides. She only holds on tighter. “Loneliness is a terrible, awful thing. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Not even a Galra.”

“Not even a Galra?” Keith whispers into her hair.

“Well. Maybe a few. They probably deserve it,” she laughs hollowly. 

He tries for humor. “Good thing my dad isn’t Galra, then.” He doesn’t know if it’s received _well_ , but it’s certainly _received_. He doubts his tastefulness more and more when the woman quickly rescinds her arms. She looks at him, startled.

“Now that you mention it,” Allura muses. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before! Not in reference to your ‘Galra lineage’, that’s not what I’m saying. What I mean is… not many people, if _any,_ have seen me quite as clearly as you do. You always know where my voice is. You always look me in the eyes. No other person has been able to hold me as tangibly as you do.” Her smile stutters, shifts, refocuses. Regardless, she steadily says “I don’t know what to make of it. You- you just might…”

Keith catches her chin in his hand. He gently lifts her bowed head, meeting his gaze with hers. “I just might what?”

Allura tries to lever her head out from his hand, but his grip is unrelenting.

“Please forget I said it.”

 _Like hell that’s happening._ “I just might _what_.” Keith insists.

Exasperated, she huffs frigid air right in his face. “I was _going_ to say, you just might make a good candidate.”

“Allura you know that tells me nothing. A candidate for what?” His patience is visibly and audibly thinning. His grip is edging on painful.

“I said you didn’t ask all the questions you wanted to, last week. Do you think maybe you want to ask the rest now?” she diverts.

Keith relaxes his hold, quickly snatching back his hand when he realizes how much force he used. “I don’t have any more questions.” 

“Poppycock.” Allura snaps. “Try again.”

“I have a question. In the singular.”

The ghost throws her hands up, crying “well then ask it, already!”

Keith grabs her raised arms, pulling them so she follows behind him, and walks them both to the front of the sliding door downstairs. For a moment all is still. When he releases her hands, the stillness breaks.

Pointing harshly to the glass door, he nearly demands of her “Why didn’t you show me this last time. With all those big family gatherings, I would assume at least _some_ of you would want to mingle outside. You must have some fond memories that aren’t all trapped _inside_ the house.”

With every word Allura shrinks in on herself, stepping farther and father away from the door. “Sure I do, but people don’t typically take their guests outside when giving them a tour of the _house_.”

“That’s crap. You didn’t even glance at this door when you showed me around last week. What’s so important about this door, Allura. Is it the door itself? Something on the deck? Something you’re keeping in the yard?”

“Just why are you so insistent on knowing what’s behind the door?” Allura’s voice raises. “If I didn’t bring it up to you last week, what makes you think I want to bring it up _now._ ”

Keith raises his to match. “What are you hiding behind the door!” 

“I don’t want you to see!”

“Well I _want_ to see! I want to know. What happened to this honesty thing we were doing?”

“I’m not _lying_ to you, Keith.”

“Oh no,” he spits. “You’re just emitting certain truths. I haven’t heard _that one_ before.”

“Why yes. Yes I am, Keith. Why is that so bad. Why do you want to know what’s beyond the damn door?”

“Why can’t you tell me.” He stubbornly challenges. “Why won’t you tell me about the reports. Why are you so defensive about this, _what are you not_ ** _telling_** _me?”_

“Fine!” She yanks his hand. Ripping the door to the side, she _jerks_ them outside onto the deck. “We’re outside!” 

Outside, they are. But at what price? She stands shaking, faltering and afraid. She brings herself back to awareness with the heat of Keith’s hand. The pulse in his wrist. The passion of his voice. It helps marginally, but her anxiety won’t let her rest. _He’s connecting the dots too quickly._ His betrayal will come too soon. She thought she had time to really get to know him, earn his complete trust before he found the skeletons in her closet. ( _If only skeletons were the thing he had to find_ , she ruefully mourns.) 

Allura can scarcely fathom just how full his trust already is.

“Well?” she pushes. “Was this what you wanted? 

The whiplash softness of Keith’s voice makes her feel like she’s looking over a cliff’s edge. “No. Not really. I only wanted to know what you were keeping from me. Why are you so afraid? Is it something you did? Something your father did, your mother? The Galra? I…” he fidgets with his hands. “I don’t know if you don’t tell me. If it’s something _I_ did, I really thought we’d be at that point where you’d have told me. All I want is for you to find rest. _That’s_ what I wanted.”

Allura is flummoxed.

Flabbergasted. 

Speechless.

For Keith’s own sake, she can muster up a single thread of courage. 

“You really want to untether me to the house that bad?” 

“Yes!” Keith shouts. “Yes! That’s it! And I don’t know why you’re so against it! I don’t know what’s so important outside of the house. I don’t know how all these missing persons reports tie in, I don’t know anything!” He frantically rubs his arms up to his elbows, then up to his shoulders. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.” His eyes implore of hers, “Please tell me _something_.” And so does his mouth, apparently.

“You aren’t going to like this.”

“You’re probably right,” he interrupts. “But I already don’t like this. I haven’t liked this for a long time. I’m going to do something about it now. Of course, only if you’ll _let me_.”

There’s no shaking Keith! He’s going to have to see the well.

“Very well. Come with me, I’ll show you.”

Past and below the splintered deck sits an dysfunctional well, a shiny eyesore in contrast to the dull eyesore of the backyard's grass. Allura stops when they stand in front of it. Keith would rather look at this thing as little as possible. 

And smell it as little is possible, what is that _stinking?_

The woman jerks her head towards the lip of the well. Does Keith have to look down, too? Please no.

Down the rusting chain, he doesn’t see any bucket attached to the end. 

Allura can just _smell_ Keith’s slippery decent to foul rejection. She’s quickly regretting ever letting him come back to the house at all.

“Allura what is…” he peers down the chute. It’s not empty, which is, okay that’s fine. If it were something like spoiled water that would be one thing. But it’s not. It’s _really_ not water, which is _another thing entirely_. He has to hold his nose when he nervously asks, fearing the worst: “What is that down there? Is that _blood_?”

“I can, in fact, explain.”

“Please do, that would be very nice.”

Allura walks and talks them back into the house much to Keith’s unvocalized relief. It’s only until she slides the door behind them that he can breathe normally.

This time, she doesn’t even bother with taking them up to the loft. The floor in front of the door is good enough. She sits herself down on the ground, patting her hand next to her.

She peers out the door while deliberating her words, Keith setting himself awkwardly next to her.

Nope, deliberating takes too long. 

Life’s too short, (for Keith at least) so she unabashedly goes for it.

“The blood you saw in the well is not mine.”  
“Well that’s not particularly comforting to know.”

“I know, I know.” Allura inhales. “It’s not mine. It’s not my parents’. What you saw in the well was… I’m sorry, I’ve never had to tell anybody this.”

“Not uh- not to worry. Take… take your time.” Keith awkwardly assures.

“No. I need to get this out before I lose either my bravery or audacity again. That blood is not mine. _That_ blood is the blood of the Galra.”

“The what of the whom, again.” Keith says flatly.

“The corrupted Galran spirits. What you saw in the well is what’s left of them. When I killed them, defeated them- however you want to word it- that’s what they left behind. What you see around you,” she opens her arms to gesture at the house, “s not just me. This is not only my affecting. The Galra had a heavy hand in the deteriorating of the house, the land. Even still, this is only just a _taste_ of the real damage they can cause. What they _have_ caused.”

Keith scrunches his eyebrows. “That… kind of makes no sense.” 

“Yes, I should think to an outsider it wouldn’t. I don’t really know how to explain it. You could say that the well is the remnants of the Galra’s soul.”

“That is so creepy.”

“Perhaps. Now you see why I didn’t want you going outside. I, myself go outside as little as possible. I am loathe to be reminded that the well even _exists_ , much less of what it contains. It smells awful, and it does nothing in my favor of the ‘spooky ghost’ stigma.”

“No kidding,” Keith mutters.

Allura pretends she didn't catch that. “There’s only one way to get rid of it. When I get rid of the blood in the water, then I don't have to stay with the house. My father’s wish will have been complete, and I can finally join him and my mother at long last.”

Something about that sentence seems too easy to Keith. “‘Get rid of the blood in the water’? What does that mean, what do you do, do you like… dump it out of the well? Can you not touch it, is that what’s stopping you?”

“That is _far_ from what’s stopping me.” She turns her head to look over the deck, recoiling at the sight of the ugly water well. “Believe me, I’ve tried before. The only thing that dumping the blood out does, is give me dirty hands and a dirty conscious.” She annunciates crisply, “it needs to be purified.”

“The blood needs to be purified. Okay.”

The woman isn’t _crazy_ for his tone, but at least Keith isn’t running away. She thinks she can postpone his inevitable betrayal until after this conversation.

“When my father bound me where, it was a blessing and a curse. I think you can easily tell which party between my father and the Galra caused which. The process to undo it is simple, but not easy.”

“How do you purify the water, Allra.” Keith says bluntly.

“I’d rather not say.”

“Well I’d rather know. What does it take to purify it, to get the Galra’s influence away from this place?”

“I told you Keith,” she whispers. “It’s gruesome. It’s intense. I-“

He slaps a hand on her shoulder. “I know this! You’ve told me this already, but that’s all you’ve said! Tell me something I don’t already know. _How do you get rid of the blood_.”

She’s nearly inaudible at this point. “I vowed to myself I wouldn’t do it again for a very long time. I can’t let myself get carried away again. I can’t let it happen. I can’t… I can’t.”

“Allura I,” the hunter’s hands are fists. _Patience. Focus._ Trust. “You do realize I still want to help you, right? The only thing you’re doing is making it harder for me. I can’t keep dealing with these half-answers. I just can’t.” Something clicks with Keith as he says that. “Intense and grueling.” His eyes narrow. “Is this how the missing people come in? Does this have anything to do with them?”

The woman’s shame isn’t so great as to render her speechless. She surmounts, admitting “yes. It does. Those missing people were me. It was all me.”

“But how. _How_.”

“I um. I killed them.”

“You _what?!_ ” his reaction is instant and _incendiary_. “I thought you were the good guy! You _killed_ those missing people?”

“I am a good guy!” Allura promises. “I am! Really! Do you think I _wanted_ to kill them? Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I find _pleasure_ in any part of this? I sincerely hope not. This whole situation with the well and the curse has brought me nothing but shame and exhaustion. I hardly think it my fault that their souls couldn’t take it.”

“‘Their souls couldn’t take it’. Now what does that mean.”

“It means just that. I don’t _kill_ people. Not in a conventional way like a blade to the back or a shot in the heart. I don’t forcefully rip living souls away from peoples’ bodies. I’m not even powerful enough to do that.”

“Then why did people have to _die_? I still don’t understand I don’t-“

She rests a hand on his elbow. “I possess.”

“You possess people,” he piece-mails, “and they die?”

“Basically, yes.” 

Bless Keith. He’s trying so hard to understand. Allura worries that if he tries any harder, his brain will explode. She takes pity on him, saving him from his own demise. “I have to possess people’s bodies and essentially exchange their souls to break the bond.”

“That… that makes more sense.”

“Their soul has to have enough… I don’t know what you would want to call it; strength? fortitude? tenacity?- something like that, in order to heal over the Galra’s blights. It would bring the house to its original state, thus setting me be free.”

“And so all those people you made went missing,” Keith follows along, “were people you possessed. But couldn’t cover the blights.”

“Precisely.” Allura takes her hand off his arm and looks away from the window. Even still, she can see the shadows of the backyard paint their silhouettes inside.

“I will say, the influx of news casts about this house was not my most shining moment. I got so impatient and angry with people that came by, I snatched every person I could and laid them down to try to unbind myself. I knew better, but I did it anyway. None of the people who trespassed here were strong enough. That’s why they all died. I went a little possess-happy and I regret it _deeply._ ”

“So that’s all it takes?” Keith notes. “You just need like… a sacrifice?”

Allura puts a dainty hand to her chest. “Oh good grief. I mean, that’s not _wrong_. It’s certainly one way of putting it.”

He immediately complies. “Then let’s do it.”

She rubs her collarbone. “Do what.”

“The possession.”

“Do the possession?” The woman stills her hand. “You mean on _you_?”

“Yeah, why not?” Keith reasons. “You said before I can see you the best, hear you the best, _feel you the best_ ,” he mumbles. “I think I can take it.”

She readily vetoes. “No, Keith. Absolutely not. I’m not going to do that to you, there’s no way. I _just_ said I vowed to myself-“

“Well some vows need to be broken. Let me do this.”

“There’s no way.” she shakes her head.

“Allura! _Think_ for a minute. I’m a willing party, I’m the most connected to you. All the other people you’ve used were unwilling and had no connection. This could really be different, this could be good.”

“Perhaps it _could_ be, but why would I want to take that chance? I don't know what’s going to happen to you.” _She can barely meet his eye._

“Take. The chance.” He grips her shoulders tight, and bids her thus: “I don’t want to see another person missing. You’re not the only family that’s been broken by the Galra. If I can help it in any way, why don’t I?”

“You would…” she lays her hands over his. “You would do that?”

“This isn’t just about you anymore. There’s a much larger force at stake, but I’m not afraid of what I have to pay to stop it.” _If Allura was a tidal wave, Keith’s eyes snap like the first branch of a forest fire._ “Let’s try.”

Allura breathes in slow, slow through her nose. “If there’s no talking you out of it-“

“There isn’t.”

She breathes out. “Then follow me.” 

When they arrive in front of her bedroom door again, Keith doesn’t feel as anxious as before. It’s something maybe a half step down. Something like consternation.

She opens the door, fans her arm inside, Keith strolling in behind her. He’s ready. Nervous. Doubtless.

“Please lay down on the bed.”

Okay. So Keith has a few doubts about _that_.

Professionally, in a worryingly practiced voice, Allura begins her speech.

“I am about to possess you. There is no sensation that comes close to how it actually feels. There is no likeness that aptly describes the fullness, the intensity, nor the _pain_ of just what I do. I need to be very focused, so try to scream as little as possible if you can help it. If not… Well. Try your hardest. I will eclipse your entire soul, but don’t bother ‘readying’ yourself for it or any nonsense like that. Like I said, there is nothing to prepare you, no metaphor I can give to articulate to you just how unique the feeling is.” She sighs. “I really didn’t want to do this.” She raises her hands. “But you asked for it.”

“Wait, Allura!” He throws out his hand.

“Are you saying you want out already?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m still going to do this, I just-“ he fishes his phone from his back pocket. “I made a promise to some friends.” He switches on his camera’s phone, then waves Allura to come next to him. “They really wanted to see you. I want something to leave them with. Is that alright?”

“Oh. Why do they want to see me?” she asks tenderly.

He waggles his phone. “You’re a mystery, Allura. My friends love mysteries.” 

“Pffft. Alright then. If it’s for the sake of _mystery_.”

“I don’t know when I’m going to see them again,” he says as she descends on the bed next to him. “I don’t think they’re going to see me again, period. After this, it’s all over. I can do this much for them.”

Keith positions them, takes the photo, and waits for the view to pop up. (He’s nearly _blinded_ by Allura’s supernatural glow.) He saves it as his wallpaper.

“Alright. I’m really ready.”

She leans in close to suggest in Keith’s ear, “ _close your eyes_ ” _._

He couldn’t shut them fast enough.

Then it begins.

She raises her hands again, and it starts with a gentle tug at his throat. More insistently it pulls, trying to take something from out his breath. Is that… _life?_ His breathing hitches, smoothes, quickens again. Something warm is crawling up and over his esophagus and he can’t fight it back out.

_It’s like light spilling out of his mouth._

Are his lips puffing up? He swears his chin is locking, his jaw is clenching. 

Keith’s neck begins to swell from the inside out, and his hands want to snap up to claw at it, but they’re immovably _stuck_.

The tugging moves from his neck down to his collar bone. A pressure down, in, around. _Where does the sensation want to go_? He can feel Allura’s soul like hands, pressing down on him  at his tendons and muscles. Everywhere her hands trace it depresses on his body, leaving prints of heat and cold as they lift. Heat and coolness linger where her soul passes, never straying past his clavicle. 

A heat starts to bloom from the middle of his chest. A fire licks its way from beneath his breastbone, out to his shoulders. His throat is poisoned like gasoline, the feeling is so sharp. _Is she going to let him cough it up or choke it down_? He lays stunned, -pliant and pained- and thinks she’s going to let him do _neither_. 

Keith needs to gasp, but he can’t. He needs to move, but he can’t. He needs to breathe, he needs to open his eyes he needs to _move_ but he can’t. He can’t, he can’t he _can’t_!

He’s acutely aware they’ve hardly begun.

Break-neck, the heat recedes to cold, leaving the hairs on his stomach and arms stand at attention. Is he _sweating?_ Is he _shivering_? He can’t decide if he wants to shiver from the cold, laugh at the warmth, swallow the bile or cringe at the pain. 

The pulling moves down to his legs. As the temperatures fluctuate above his waist, invisible hands push up beneath the skin of Keith’s thighs. Like a ripping thread he can feel Allura’s sharp overtaking run through him. He wants to gasp as he feels her heat linger near his mouth but he’s _stuck stuck_ ** _stuck_**.

Pulling, pushing, up over and around, Keith begins to lose his sense of direction. He faintly recalls being laid down at a bed, but that’s the height of his cohesiveness.

Dizzying and numbing he feels Allura beginning to take over. When she said _possession_ , she wasn’t putting it lightly. Limb by limb, he feels himself losing control. His body is not his own. Like a fire ignited by his own blood, his body is a puppet under Allura’s strings.

 _Everywhere,_ everywhere is on fire. His feet feel like he’s walked over coal for _miles._ His hands burn like he’s handled a flamethrower from the wrong end. His chest, his legs, his arms they all sweat from the smothering heat. He longs, he _needs_ to cry out- but Allura needs to _focus._  

He hangs on until the ride is over.

Keith’s whole body undulates with heat and coolness circling through him. Ringing in his ears, he thinks he hears the shrieks and cries of unrepentant Galra. (Like clay in a kiln, he feels himself being refined.)

Each and every one his pores prickle with fickle sensation. Allura slips in, pervades, resides. Keith can feel each piece of her soul joining each other; her sadness, her loneliness, her anger, joy and peace. They all move _in_ to push Keith’s _out_. With all of Allura’s soul taking him over, he wonders how _he_ even has room left to feel. 

Then, comes her love.

A soothing balm over the oppressive humidity, the biting coldness; her love washes over him wave after wave.

He feels the love for her family first. Beautiful, familiar and bright, it pushes and dances its way through his head. In memories not his own, Keith sees the pure laughter of children and the fond gazes of wise parents. _He’s always wanted something like that._

Next is the love for the victims of the Galra. Strong and unapologetic, Allura’s sympathy for their perversion numbs its way up his hands, arms and feet. _It makes him want to reach his own out, himself._ He mourns when she mourns, hoping against hope that she could _only do more._

Surprisingly, he feels her love for him.

Him?

He almost knocks himself out of the bed with surprise.

Near his heart, he can name things like belonging, peace, hope and _quiet_ resounding. Not once does the word “silence” cross her mind. Only music.

(Are these all things Allura thinks of when she thinks of _him_?)

If only he could hear the music the same.

Behind Keith’s ears only resounds the ringing of loud, chaotic _noise._ Unpolished, unforgiving its volume only grows and grows. Screams of corrupted souls, cries for help beyond hope, weeping of family gone to soon- he hears it all.

Then **_woosh_**.

Nothing.

Sweating in the wake of Allura’s absence, Keith comes to.

He doesn’t feel a thing. He doesn’t _hear_ a thing. No cries or chaos ring in his head. No love or hope trail their fingers near his heart. No sadness, no anger or fear crawl their way up his chest, out his throat.

It’s all gone.

Well. That’s not really true. When he opens his eyes next, he looks out to a blinding white.

He shuts his eyes right fast.

“Allura?” Keith croaks sorely.

There’s still…nothing. He tries taking stock of things around him but the air feels the same. Allura’s mattress is still as soft as it was beneath him. The air’s not hotter, it’s not colder. He barely hears his breathing coming from him, much less Allura’s from beside him. 

Keith doesn’t dare open his eyes again. Until melodically, Allura’s vanilla voice embraces him out of his ailments,

“You can open your eyes now.”

Slowly, painfully, agonizingly he wrenches his eyes open. One by one he lets himself name things around the room- the foot of the bed, a band poster. Fresh paint on the walls, clean carpeting all around. Everything diffuses a soft glow. The most mundane things from the walls to the ceiling all fricking _glow_. For all Keith knows, even the dust mites are glowing.

Is this what Allura has always seen?

And what about Allura herself? If the _dust mites_ are glowing, what is _she_ doing?

He churns his head over to where she’s knelt by the bed. He’s thinking she might have been sparkling, glittering or gleaming. Any effervescent adjective he could think of, he automatically he assumed she would be.

But she isn’t.

All she’s doing is… smiling. 

When Allura’s body was still made of magic and light, Keith thought her smile was beautiful. Now that her body is flesh, sinew and coursing pulses… he can finally feel her the way he wants.

Her breath and and sigh and gaze are all _warm_ when Keith pads his fingers over her lips. _Now that the storm has passed, only the smoke on the water remains._  

(He wants to be lifted up from her.)

“I think I can take this kind of overwhelmed.”

Allura nearly smacks his hand away, she’s so scandalized.

Oh. He said that out loud, didn’t he.

But the more she gazes, the more lost he becomes. What happened with his soul? _What happened at all_? He has so many questions; did it work? Am I alive? Is Allura alive? Why does she feel so _real_? Why is her smile _so_ ** _beautiful_**?

For (frankly way too long of) a moment, she just kneels next to Keith, smiling and sighing like drips in a puddle. She puts his worries to rest when she whispers in close,

“But you weren’t. You _did it_ , Keith. You did it.” She tucks some frizzed hair behind his ear. “You did it. You were enough.”

“Oh.” So that’s what happened.

“I have something to show you.”

She holds out her hand to him, standing in waiting. He doesn’t really want to get up from her bed, though. He’s so _exhausted_. Of all things.

However… it’s Allura. Anything Allura is anything important.

He follows without reserve.

Room by room she leads him through another house tour. She’ll fix her gaze on certain places in each room, or stay a little longer in a certain spot, but no words are needed to weigh their significance. Keith can already see what she means.

The house has been restored.

Furniture that wasn’t there when he first visited, has now made a place for themselves. Paintings and projects all litter the walls. He doesn’t recognize a single one, and he thinks he likes it all the more for it. The refrigerator is stacked with magnets, the photos around the house are unfaded and clear.

The well outside no longer reeks of copper, iron or _curse._

Allura opens all the blinds to every window they cross. Each time she throws them wide open, she beams at Keith as if to say _join me!_ All he can do is lethargically nod, and wait for Allura to dwell in her memories.

They settle on the living room couch after all the rooms are explored. Sunlight pours, floods, torrents in from the window. Allura unashamedly basks.

Silently they watch the sun stagnate, then begin to descend.  When the sun begins to climb down, she blinks up at Keith-

“Welcome to the other side.”

-And thinks he’ll never get used to that.

He thinks that now, in the house Allura knows, with all the things she loves; she may finally, _finally_ have rest.

He thinks they’re very welcome, indeed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't see that coming, did you
> 
>  
> 
> (edits to come later!)


End file.
